Reminiscentia

Struggling to get dinner ready on time
you can't remember
how to work your oven.

But older memories
come spilling out
as I clamber about to scoop them all up.
I don't want to lose them.
The relics, the glass keepsakes
tucked and shelved all around
above the sink and dinner dishes
I want to know their stories.
An easter hen
and fair souvenirs from generations ago.

Tell me about before
walking to work
living in town with an old aunt.
Tell me about the independence
and the sunshine on the sidewalk.
Meeting your future husband.
What did you see?
Was it the crinkle around his eyes?

When you drive down Main Street
vacant and crumbling
do you think about when he walked you home from work?
Streetlight and starlight.

Living in the same house
you grew up in years ago.
Right on the township line.
The memories live in the carpet,
they breathe through the wallpaper.
Up through the heating vents
that inflated my Sunday dresses
twirling and giggling.

tired haikus

boxes and baggage
new shoes in a time of change
help me get going

sunburn on one side
days of delightful sunshine
books returned too soon

no more shared dinners
we eat seasonally here
well-salted cuisine