A Wigwam for a Goose's Bridle

Can I blame Apple?  If we could add storage
to the phone, I wouldn’t be clearing out my voice notes. 

This one takes me by surprise.  I remember
the night, but had completely forgotten keeping 
this sound bite. 

We’re laughing and happy, and you tell me a joke
about a dyslexic Angel with a triangular halo.
Now I sit here crying.

I thought the fever had broken,
but I know how griefs work,
how sometimes they can be forgotten 
until the moment they choose —

ambush

I am injured, but it is not a fatal wound, 
and healing begins with delete.