(2) I Look for Them

I look for them, and I see no one, nothing. No rusted, ancient bicycle moving along the grassy ridge. No large, yellow dog, head down, unleashed, unsteadily followed.

No swirl of white tennis dresses on the court. No cars driven up along the curb and parked. No casual walk, from the house across the street or from the one two houses down the block.

I look for them and wonder, whether any of them are left. It's been, what, five years or more since I saw the one I took to be his daughter, with the dog. And more than ten, since I last saw all of them together. The old friends. The ones who knew each other when.

I look for them, and listen for their voices.

I think, now, that I must sit more quietly here. Sit quietly and see if, in this silence, there may come some random movement.

Out there, among the trees. Unseen by anyone on the street, at the corner of my eye...

LPK
LiveJournal
7.5.2016

(3) What I Want to Remember

I want to remember them. I want to remember their names and faces. I want to remember how they walked and gestured and how they dressed.

But more than that, I want to remember how they greeted and spoke with and seemed to care about each other.

That they seemed to remember how it was when they were young and all of it was new. But also remembered, whatever they'd become, whatever they'd been through, that there were still the others.

Waiting to see them, to acknowlege their lives, on a day like this.

In the bright sunlight and moving shadows of Allen Park...

LPK
LiveJournal
7.5.2016