the nostalgia of street corners
so ordinary and familiar
little things that stack up to life
one step, step, step
day after day
years, even
and in autumn
when everything’s dying off after abundance
I weep
over a final mundane journey
ragged leaves scuffing my way
a boy outgrown/ growing up
a closing door
era’s end
and like a film, it’s golden in there
that final crack of light
glowing yellowbrick road curling
back to the recent past
even the tough times
I know. I knew, I know
how shit things were/are/were
but they’re already bathed
in the liquidamber of sealed memory
the beauty
of inaccessibility (don’t ever change!)
and what if I’m only now getting used
to accepting the seasons
and it’s all starting to make sense
and I could relax into it
just about
feel the lull of acceptance
a way life could be?
—
and I know every other fucking poet
said it already
but this is mine
Photo: Claire Doble
clairevetica 