It passes me by
This faded, untouched, overlooked piece
Filled with longing.
The stories it could tell!
if it had lips to speak
Its handwriting looks calligraphic
Old-fashioned, another time, some other place.
It strikes me as Hungarian
for no particular reason
as I have yet to step foot in that land
and my own roots trace back to other well-trodden parts of the Old Country.
I’ve passed it by
On numerous occasions
dressed in pretty skirts and fancy heels
running around to nowhere in particular
Hints and twists
I catch a glimmer from its direction on moonless nights
It shines with an intensity
somewhere from within
back when it was The Place to Be
Now it’s just forgotten.
As I call it out
Like folklore that believes
when you speak you give words power
Then I too shall place the power in what once was
so that you and I may witness
Those glory days all over again.
Had it been merely a sign in the window?
Or was it a prestigious marquee
Now this piece I pass by on my way to this-and-that
those nights when I linger too long.
Time, holding its hand –
together they laugh in my direction
skipping off to where they need to be.
We all talk about those glory days.
We all long to get back to a time when things were better.
Hindsight what it is,
the past always seeming better than what it really was.
I cannot resurrect you,
glimmer from the past.
I cannot relive your glory days
or relive my own.
I can only pass you by.
Stop and pause -
In dreams you shall live on.
From: The Sign in the Window: 2011 Y-City Writers’ Forum Writing Contest
Published by: Y-City Writers’ Forum
© Copyright 2011 ~ Lori Ann Kusterbeck