THIS GATE

Here.

This place

this corner

this has always reminded me

of home

your home

the place you grew up

a place I have never seen.

This has always been

in my eye

the touchstone to a past

I cannot recall

a life you had before me

but I always imagine

full of details.

This wall is where you played catch.

This gate is where you climbed.

This man sold you ice cream

until he offered it

few strings attached

to his 'best little customer.'

So much you lived

so well you patrolled these streets

or so I see

in my inner eye

when I think of a past

your past

that I cannot recall

but desperately wish to.

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