Searching
by Carol Greenberg

                     Lost in the small town aptly named Memory
                     I wander the lonely streets
                     Searching for a glimmer of remembrance.
                     Perhaps, a faint trace of a face,
                     A name, something to call me back
                     To a younger place for I do not like it there
                     In that City Of Old Age
                     Where sunlight is dim
                     And it is not the rustle of the wind in the trees 
                     That astounds the but rather the whistling annoyance 
                     Heard through hearing aids.


                    The streets are littered here in Memory.
                    Scraps of photos, broken promises, forgotten trinkets,
                   (Some gold) clothes from another era,
                    Mostly.  Smelling of moth balls.  
                    I recover one shard marked, “friends””
                    But their faces faded. 
                    Their names mark tombstones. 
                    Another called “children”.  
                    They must belong to someone else. 
                   
                    My children are small, I think, unless they have grown. 
                    I don’t recognize them.
                    There are no street signs.  Nothing 
                    to give direction.
                    I feel a storm coming and a scrap of paper
                    Has blown into my hand with a name I
                    Hardly recognize, almost illegible.
                    It says “God”. 

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