noteface

My past came tipping back at me

Threefold in a single day

One inviting; one writing; a sighting

Resented

Hoped for

Pleasantly indifferent 

And then the fourth:

Unattached nostalgia.

I thought things you are not allowed to think about children --

But I suppose you're not a child anymore, are you?

And I'm certainly not, wonderful stranger

I, hawk-postured and eighth;

I, lamping your face

with torch and eyes

I would that I were at the coffee table

Just to talk--

and twice, really...

But instead I stood in black

Sat in black, secret scowl

I smiled only with my eyes in that mourning glare 

So you better have been watching closely

(and not just at the lower changes)

Yet, I'd rather my day this order

Than the reverse

For forward to end

Than beginning in order towards harsher words.