Into This Afternoon Come Relentless Memories Tainted with Awkward Wish Fulfillment Nostalgia Laced with Imagined Mystery and Angst

           

I remember late winter, early spring light in Albuquerque, fractions of yellow sunrise changing on the wood fence on the other side of the alley, a rainbow of one color offset by invasive bamboo, green as evergreen, a lushness complimenting the barely-hanging-on cottonwood leaves.

            I remember the ache of red and brown buds, whorl of tight delight, how migratory birds blend in with plants, how their bodiless Ariel-like songs charm and infuse the new season with sleep. A thermometer alarm clock rings and thousands of flying insects percolate from the ground, dry their wings, beat forward into January, February, March, and April.

            I remember mid-day zeniths, how practice makes one a perfectionist, with or without reservations to the contrary. Contained, sheltered, ensconced in the Goldilocks Zone, waiting for phone calls, letters, unexpected visitors.

            I remember chipped cups, a dented non-stick roasting pan, the essence of inexpensive food, jury-rigged shower stall, panes of glass in sash windows that became mirrors at night.

 

            I wait for the dearth of complacency, the erasure of sureness, the faux promise of hot meals and clean beds. Kitchen measuring cups dole orts of assurance, I imagine increments of light echoing what I remember, filling afternoons with time travel itineraries and puddle-jumper air flights over ordered Grant Wood landscapes.
            Inescapable, iced over, the awful truth about loss.

I arrange my memorabilia for a show in the What Was, Hall of Fame.

[RK, 10/18/2020]