She clawed against the forgetfulness

She imposed upon herself.

She had not remembered names very well.

That way, she didn’t commit to memory

The friends she didn’t make;

The names of those who were not inviting.

Without names, it is easy to disregard people,

Driving out any sense of existence.

The habit protected her from the unapproachable,

The eyes that suddenly averted upon arrival,

She understood what she was doing,

And she kept doing it, other ways of being

As unfamiliar as the names that she forgot.

She tried, somewhat unsuccessfully,

To be a good friend to the few who

Were not thrown off by her insular ways

&  self-imposed isolation.  The names

That she did remember.

She used to yearn for a ‘best’ friend,

But she really didn’t have the skill,

Always doing too little and then too much.

She withdrew into her laptop,

Just as her grandmother had retreated,

Misunderstood, into her gardens.