In My Heart, I’m Always Princess Peach

In My Heart, I’m Always Princess Peach

Playing Super Mario 2 With My Kid on My Old Nintendo

He marvels at how I locate every buried 
potion. That I know when to uproot a radish

and heave. I sack a shush of Shy Guys
and wonder what better knowledge 

I’ve surrendered to preserve space 
for this: the thumb-click sequence required 

to commandeer the flying carpet. Though 
science says I’m wrong—we have near-limitless 

repositories. It’s the access that we lose, 
our brains sometimes erasing pathways 

to make us more adaptable. 
I like the nearness of this dream world 

of Mario’s. I always choose Peach because the dress
catches air when I jump and I can float along 

for a bit. The ability to jump, to make your signature,
to navigate a known place like your childhood 

home—all examples of motor memory, 
which we acquire through repetition and draw on 

unconsciously. Motor memory doesn’t decline 
with age so I could forever find the way 

to my bedroom in that single-wide, 
were it still there. My hand could scrawl 

my name on anything I thought was mine. 
I could keep chasing magic 

carpets. Keep breaking the beaker of potion 
to reveal the key. My kid cheers—we found the key!—

but ghosts give chase and I never
formed memory of how to put 
them 

behind me. When I die of ghost-shock,
my kid knows we can do 

better. With kindness, 
pats the hand not holding the controller.

Better Home, Better Gardens

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