Tag Archives: Nostalgia

Nostalgia

Have you noticed them creeping in now?

Arriving separately,

that one always early, that one always late

to a party years after the kitchen’s been cleaned.

Moments

as we were then.

Catching up with me on a sidewalk,

sneaking into an elevator,

following me on those stairs.

The darkness of a last stare

strolling through the back door.

A touch,

warm arm hairs,

that itchy sweater of yours,

a reproach, a grin,

apologies never spoken.

Screen door slams

goodbye.

And all that white light.

My sunglasses? Where are they?

I must cover my eyes.

Their. No, there.

There. They. Are.

Pointing down

from the heavens

laughing and shaking their heads.

Is that pity? Are they pitying me?

Shush.

They’re examining their hands.

Looking back at their lightness.

Catching their bearings.

Who’s dead now?

A collective wondering.

 “What’s that covering their faces?” they mouth, confused.

Is it Halloween?

Just dropping by.

Did someone drop the cutlery?

Why so many line-ups? they ask.

Whatever happened to spontaneous?

They’re mocking me now. And you. All of us.

In the breeze through the poplars

through the trill of red winged blackbirds and

the turtles on that log clinging to the scent of

spring flowers:

clematis, hydrangea and calla lilies

befriending me on my 6:30 am walks

when I’m trying to lean into

so much sorrow,

I must steady myself,

ignore the vertigo

because they’re so alive,

no doubt about it.

I can feel them

in a surge of yearning

so strong

I have to resist an overwhelming desire

to be there with them

and

not here,

just carrying on.