Damnatio Memoriae
by Genevieve Petty
I remember everything, because it's all still there
somewhere.
I remember nothing.
But I finally have a name for the tricks I play with memory.
Damnatio Memoriae, the damnation
of memory.
Domitian was damned by the Senate,
and all his images broken, inscriptions erased.
And so I've done with memory.
I've broken the images, chipped away at the inscriptions.
No longer do I remember the particulars about certain things.
I can only grasp at the gist of six years of elementary
school.
And the memory I've tried hardest to uncover, to understand;
All I have are disconnected, broken images.
A small dark room with one tiny window.
Shelves with old things on them.
And there's someone in the room with me.
But I don't know who it is.
And I don't know what happens in that room.
But I do know it's why I do certain things,
And why I don't do others.
But I do not remember.
It is too far damnatio.
But the memories I cherish, they are as clear as glass.