Do you remember me?

Fatema Nakhuda

Memory is a quilt of whispers sewn in the fabric of time.
The first memory of your mother:
‘05 amidst Christmas chaos, laughter echoed in the cinnamon air.
‘07, crashing waves chased us at the beach.
‘09, I am performing, finding a familiar face in the audience.
Mid-July—apricot trees, lemonade in glass jars, honey, apple pies,
Jazz on the radio, that’s what home meant.

Memory is a sepia photograph, where smiles fade but whispers linger.
I am 22, tipsy on cola which tastes like Whitman you used to recite,
Like 2009, writing about you one more time.
You’re 72, but do you remember the beach? (you don’t)
I’d let the tide be louder than us this time; you won’t have to chase me.
This is the city that birthed you, now a stranger to your memories.
Your trembling hands need something stable to hold,
and instead of offering you a memory of Christmas,
I reintroduce myself, again and again, and again.
(but you never remember who I am)
And you keep saying,
'You’re trying to remember something too important to forget.'

Memory is a labyrinth of mirrors reflecting forgotten faces.
Abstract, yet tangible,
residing in the folds of your brain as constellations of cells,
assigned for the exact moment I was born, and you saw me wrapped in a hospital blanket,
for the precise moment you saw me graduate, cheering as I walked the stage.
Engraved as engrams on the mind’s canvas,
like Plato’s signet ring on a wax tablet,
an indelible record etched in synapses and neural connections,
Hebb’s neurons, firing and wiring together.

Memory is a gallery of fractured dreams, hung on the walls of the mind.
If an engram were a person,
it'd speak of time—a thread crocheted through the soul, of joy and of sorrow,
with hues of yesterday and tomorrow.
With passing time, engrams intertwine,
establishing neural networks where memories are etched,
intertwined with the fading instances that are forgotten.
Buried like fragment data, under the songs on the mixtapes,
memories that can no longer be retrieved (synaptic decay),
leaving us all with just a trace of yearning,
of desperation,
with a symphony on repeat
till you are intoxicated by it.

Memory is a fog-choked graveyard, tombstones marking the remains of moments long deceased.
Filled with nostalgia and painted with regrets—ones in which you feel the lumps in your throat,
ones where the aftertaste lingers on your tongue,
eternally nudging you of its existence.
The melancholy that crawls through the creaks
every time your mind fabricates a knock,
and you rush to the doorstep,
oblivious-
to what you’ve been looking for.

Home is nostalgia,
'You’re trying to remember something too important to forget.'
What places did we go to remember?
And what places did we ran in, to forget?

The Science

Organisms, from worms to humans, possess the remarkable ability to learn and remember, which is central to our existence and behavior. How does the brain - a mushy lump of universe consisting of billions of cells, give rise to processes so transient and ephemeral? Plato, centuries ago, proposed that memories imprint on the mind, akin to a signet ring's impression on a wax tablet. In the 21st century, psychologist Donald Hebb built upon Plato's analogy, suggesting that neurons "fire together" and "wire together", an early precursor to long-term potentiation (LTP). Tim Bliss and Terje Lømo's LTP experiments and the discovery of NMDA receptors' role in LTP induction provided a molecular framework for understanding synaptic potentiation as a mechanism for specific types of learning and memory. Memory itself arises from changes in gene expression and new protein synthesis, forging lasting connections between neurons. This physical embodiment of memory is called an Engram. This piece metaphorically illustrates the encoding and retention of experiences within the brain in the context of engram cells. The poem transitions into a reflection on the aging process, depicting the struggle of a loved one losing their memories. It touches on the pain of losing one to dementia, attempting to rekindle connections that seem lost, only to be met with the disappointment of unrecognized familiarity. It touches upon the interconnectedness of neurons, the formation of neural networks, and the delicate balance of synapses, explaining how memories are etched and connected within these intricate structures.

The Poet

Fatema Nakhuda (she/her) is a graduate student in molecular and cellular neuroscience at York university, Ontario, Canada. When not in the lab, she has an interest for writing creative pieces, and art.

Next poem: Double Stranded by G. Carlson