Remembering with the Dark

All I need is a long, dark, sleepless night
and I’ll visit again all the past I’m allowed to remember,
beginning with the white clapboard house where my
kitchen-sink baths were special; “Patty cake, patty cake…”

Hiding under the dining table, I’d listen to
the grandfather clock putting me to sleep
much quicker than my mother’s bosom.

Maybe tonight, I’ll hunt for friends
(and enemies) in the old neighborhood,
romp around my dad’s junk yard of rusting trucks
wedged between dying vegetation,
the insidious work of forever leaking motor oil and brake fluid.

Then onto Grandpa’s dilapidated farm,
where the old oak tree stump gave purchase
to the swing of his axe,
rendering chickens headless entertainment
for a young boy still sucking his thumb.

Later years…

Ah, the later years,
when my favorite black cat gives me
the green-eye stare from the shadows,
saunters up to rub against my leg,
announces she’ll be my guide—
like she knew my nights were becoming longer—
and we’re off to visit friendships of the dark.

Just around the corner…
what a street it once was.

Where its missing general store,
barber shop, one-pump gas station,
and Model Ts and As once parked,
now occupied by one more glass and metal high-rise.

The cat purrs,
I heave a sigh
(been a long walk tonight)
and off we go back into the shadows.

Like always,
finding so little of all that was
leaves me wondering what or who
makes the choice for me?