the past calls

the pull of future, and past

a box, labelled 1913,

and as holding golden locks of hair

cut from my three year old mother’s head,

nearby a tie rack her father used,

a thin straight brown branch

with two forked branch sections to hold it up,

a box with cabin plans,

particularly for the “cottage” at Wonderland,

notes carefully pencilled by her father,

all memories saved by my mother,

tucked away in a closet I need to clean out,

for we are finishing a remodel of the kitchen,

recovering space by eliminating storage,

opting for the new and current 

in color and fixture and ease,

I feel the pull of the future, and I am excited,

I feel the pull of the past, and I am sweetly saddened.

by Henry H. Walker
March 8, ‘19