But before I go, I want to share something with you. My contemporary American poetry class is currently studying Gwendolyn Brooks and today we read this poem:
when you have forgotten Sunday: the love story
—And when you have forgotten the bright bedclothes on a Wednesday and a Saturday,
And most especially when you have forgotten Sunday—
When you have forgotten Sunday halves in bed,
Or me sitting on the front-room radiator in the limping afternoon
Looking off down the long street
Hugged by my plain old wrapper of no-expectation
And nothing-I-have-to-do and I’m-happy-why?
When you have forgotten that, I say,
And how you swore, if somebody beeped the bell,
And how my heart played hopscotch if the telephone rang;
And how we finally went in to Sunday dinner,
That is to say, went across the front room floor to the ink-spotted table in the southwest corner
To Sunday dinner, which was always chicken and noodles
Or chicken and rice
And salad and rye bread and tea
And chocolate chip cookies—
I say, when you have forgotten that,
When you have forgotten my little presentiment
That the war would be over before they got to you;
And how we finally undressed and whipped out the light and flowed into bed,
And lay loose-limbed for a moment in the week-end
Then gently folded into each other—
When you have, I say, forgotten all that,
Then you may tell,
Then I may believe
You have forgotten me well.
When I read this poem, I immediately thought of my recently failed relationship. I imagined the times we spent together and how my former lover is forgetting about all our memories and then in turn me. It was a scary thought. My professor called on me to share my interpretation and I told her that I thought the speaker and the man have just ended the relationship. The professor asked if I thought they had a good relationship. I said no. I read the lines about finally going to Sunday night dinner as the boy finally compromising to do things that the girl wanted him to do.My friend Clifton cleverly pointed out "Well isn't that you just asserting your ideas about what is a good relationship on the poem?" He was right. I totally added my own experience into the lovely Gwendolyn Brooks' poem. It did make me think though about the ending of my relationship.
I wasn't happy in my relationship as much as I wanted to pretend I was. There were things that were important to me that I chose to neglect because they weren't important to my partner. Neglecting them was neglecting myself. As hard as it's been for me to move on and be okay with the idea that he's moving on from me, I know deep within me that I made the right decision.
Goodnight all of you. Sleep well, rest assured...Monday is finally finito.