A Friend Has Commented On My Memory
Facebook tells me when someone,
a friend presumably, has commented
on my memory. I like this.
I like, first, that my friends can see
my memory. It’s remarkable.
No where else is it possible to
for friends to see my memory.
If they are in a room with me,
perhaps, and I say something like,
I remember the time–
then, it seems like friends are able,
however corrupted or filtered
it may have become,
to see my memory, or at least,
a very small slice of it.
It’s possible that I’ve misunderstood.
Maybe friends are commenting
on my lack of memory. They’re
saying something like,
That Michael Jarmer, his memory
is not what it used to be.
That’s an unpleasant thought.
Or worse, they might be commenting
on their own memory of me,
in which case, they might be saying
something like, Gee, that Michael
Jarmer turns out to be nothing like
the way I remembered him.
Or worse still, the very worse still,
they speak of their memory of me
because they think I am no longer alive.
You know, in memoriam.
This last possibility is the most troubling.
But I comfort myself: how likely is it
that Facebook would be telling me
what my friends thought of me
after I was gone. Right? Not likely.
How likely would it be that I’d be
checking my Facebook in the afterlife?
Not likely. So I arrive back where
I started, saying that I am appreciative
of the fact that my friends are able to see
and then comment upon and sometimes
even go so far as to like my memory.
I remember as I am remembered
and it’s a loop that goes around