Poem of the Week: “Remind Me How Often” by Frank Ormsby

Memory is a needle’s eye in Frank Ormsby’s poem “Remind Me How Often.” What’s known in the needle’s thread becomes slippery, lost in silences, lost in darkness, as the day passes by. Ormsby ponders what’s lost, asking: “How much of what I knew / has been deflected already / into the darkness / from which it will not return?” Recovering yourself in memory, or rethreading the needle, is not a singular task, but one of intimate connection that follows simple instruction: “Start me with half a sentence, / draw the thread through.”

Remind Me How Often

Remind me, if you can, how often
I lost my thread today,
stopping in the silence
after what I had said
and before what I intended.
My memory is a needle’s eye.
Too much to ask that it recover
the day’s lost connections.
How much of what I knew
has been deflected already
into the darkness
from which it will not return?
I hoard what I have
and coax what I can
of a language that disappears daily.
I am loath to let it go,
quick to locate its absence
on the tip of my tongue.
I strive to make sense
around emptying spaces
and your extravagant gestures.
So remind me if you can how often
I lost my thread today.
Start me with half a sentence,
draw the thread through.

– Frank Ormsby, from The Tumbling Paddy (2026)