Memories Forgotten Barely Remembered a poem from 2010

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Memories Forgotten Barely Remembered




A morning rush, a honking horn, a slamming door.
A forgotten memory faded, and remembered no more.



Windows opened, clothes hanging between the buildings.
Sitting in the windows listening to the neighbor's stereo sing'"



Watching the ringer washer as it dances near the open sink.
Staring at the shadows on the wall, sitting for a shadow portrait done in blackest ink'"



Stepping sideways, walking down the darkest stairway leading to the shops downtown.
Running through the narrow alley way, climbing the well-lit steps going to another neighbor to try on a new gown'"



Lingering over tea, making cookies, playing chess, chatting the night away --
Staying up late, knowing no stranger, and never seeing the disarray.



Snatched one night, soon riding a bus'"
To cry we know not, for never again, will we see those who made such a fuss.



Soon into a stranger's home we go, learning tales of horror we'd never known before.
Frightened we soon forget those we left behind, long ago, we wonder have they forgotten us forevermore.



Suddenly we stand in front of a new class dozens of eyes staring, our voice too soft, and our accent too strong.
We wonder where we belong.



Awkward at first we begin at once to be friendly, but our accent is too strong, we're at an ungainly stage.
Not gifted or talented, we fade inward to many a printed page.



Soon another place, and another, and still another, time marches on.
Seems we'll never truly belong.



Staying one place then another, the city lights soon far behind.
Small country towns, small mountain schools, tiny towns in between, we wonder have we lost our mind.



No one comes a calling, no one has time to visit, to chat, play chess, drink a cup of tea.
Seems a different culture runs in the small towns, no one has time, no one's free.



Yet in the city, when I was a child, everyone had time to visit every day, every night for a while.
Stressed many may have been but to sit and chat a while, a game of chess it always brought a smile.



Dwelling in harmony, we banged the broom on the ceiling for noise control, stomped the floor for the same.
Always ready for a new friend to claim.



Moved away to a different place'"
Soon searching the many faces looking for just one friendly face --



Believing the moral to have a friend one must be friendly.
We look the other way when others are not so nice, sometimes wondering what makes them all stare, at you and me.



Too young to understand the whispers of the adults or so they believe.
Yet, we've heard, and we know it is because of stigma that soon we must leave.



My friend the one you scorned was only a child; the one you blamed was of no age.
Yet it is because of the shame the child soon new the adults rage.



Growing old fast, the child skipped the kindest parts of childhood.
Skipping childhood too soon entered the harshest depths of the forests wood.



Remembering ever the past, the child is long gone.
But compassion for others remains strong.



Because my friend the child was innocent, the children who stared were innocent.
The adults who whispered and raged, were children in adult bodies, never smelling compassions scent.