somewhere in my notes is a poem
I started to remind myself
when today came, a little jog
for the big memory but when I search
it’s all grocery lists, things to tell
other people, plans I am meaning
to make, and explanations for the K I
wrote on my arm yesterday when the note
didn’t work because I forgot to look at
(or maybe couldn’t find) it, like today,
and I wonder who, upon my demise, 
will find this mess and wonder too
if they will be better at managing it
than I am and really how 
could they be any worse