In Search of a Note

In search of a note I half-remember your having
Written me, I went rummaging through the table-drawer
Over by the window. Half-struck at first, it opened
At a jammed angle and all I could make out inside
Lay in a scattered jumble: blunt, small scissors some child
Had once been given ….

John Hollander

We try to go new places together
and yet it seems we keep returning to the old ones,

even at night
when I know you are in the room

and I can’t see you.
The few words we have together

keep exchanging in my mind.
full of treasure

they keep playing out their rhyme.
I crawled out my bedroom window once as a teenager

to drive downtown and listen to jazz.
I tell you this story,

the look on my friend’s face when I arrived at the bar,
and the look on mine years later

when I discovered my father made sure she’d be there.
And for all these days I’ve known that

I feel I’ve lost something.
Even vacations with my father on the beach

seem a little colder.
We say we want to see our loved ones again

but after 30 years in the grave,
they cave in.

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