to the past when I walk all alone in the park
and I begin to think of the strangest things.
Today, I began to recall my reading list from
ninth grade and thought about rereading the
books for a third time. I’d like to see how
different it would be after thirty years to read
James Joyce, George Elliot, and Eugene O’Neill.
I’m sure I must’ve missed something the first time.
Will I find new meaning in the words, will I enjoy
the books more or will I see them differently like
the way I look at the pines, cat birds, and crickets.
It all very odd, the older I get the more I want to
revisit what I knew from my days as a young man.
I want to walk alone some days and I find myself
thinking about how buds are forming on branches.
I talk to myself. I wonder about God again.
I remember the days of my youth in church and
parables from Mrs. Garrison’s Sunday school class.
I think of how we’d eat pork roast on Sundays with
mashed potatoes and sauerkraut for dinner and how
we’d drink Tang for breakfast, make ice cream by
turning a crank, and go to pick your own strawberries.
I have to laugh as I turn the corner and remember how
the needle used to get stuck on a scratched record.
I wish I could hear my grandfather sing one more time
the chorus of his favorite song, Minnie the Mermaid.