Hands, and Streets, and Memories
I remember how
You used to hold my hand when
We walked along our street.
I never noticed
When we moved from one street
To another,
So focused was I
On the pavement,
Watching for anything
That might make us stumble.
I never understood that
The rules were different
On different streets.
I never understood that
The things I had done before,
The us I had done before,
Was all wrong now.
I never understood that
You needed me on the old street,
But on the new one,
Not so much.
I never realized
When you let go my hand
You were wandering away.
I never perceived
I was lost
Until someone else
Found me
On a new street.
I like my new street.
When I get too close to traffic,
Someone takes my hand,
Whispers assurances,
Then kisses me
Like I am all she wants.
Now I look up and see
The street as
Hanging flowers,
Bright colors,
Happy shop windows;
This street works for me.
Good luck on your street.
I do not think your street and mine
Intersect any more.
Sparked by a piece by Ré Harris:
Interesting the response a piece with an entirely different message can spark — old memories and pains. Thanks, Ré!
