What if where you were
When you were who you were, before
Who you are now
Was gone
My father grew up here
So did I. There were signs black and bold
The family name,
What else was sold
I painted them one summer
I was eight, it was hot as hell, alive
With beat up trucks
Colorful men
Grampa built this, no one now would know,
Looking you’d think the name was “closed”
In pen on yellow paper
Audible emptiness
Flowers grew where dead grass
Tries behind railroad ties and on gravel
Where memories of dead men once
Parked cars
If where I was
In all those yesterdays
Is full of weeds and emptiness, did I ever
Even belong
Or with the signs am I, too,
Gone
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That reads like billowing smoke from wet wood pouring out of the chimney. Interesting twists of logic. I suppose, the “you” of that time is indeed gone. The “you” of today remembers a memory and writes about it, questioning, and also awed.
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Thank you.
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Very cool Phil. I often feel the same way when I visit my home town.
Not sure if this is your sort of thing, ModPo starts September 10th – https://www.coursera.org/learn/modpo
The missus was talking about it and I thought of you.
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Thanks! I registered. It never hurts to learn something. Although in my case a little learning can be a dangerous thing.
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Heh, my missus did it last year and recommends it.
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