By: J.K. Durick

It’s Like That

Our personal past hangs around
Always ready to reappear in
Dreams, in recollections, in
Whole scenes that are there
Waiting to become again. I’m
In a meeting with colleagues
We’re talking, laughing about
Some college matter, a matter
Of some importance at the time
But gone now, gone like that scene.
Except sometimes it’s back again
With me. I was young back then
The youngest in the group, getting
Started, becoming one of them.
Now they are all gone, dead, and
I’m old. And that scene only is
There because I’m still here and
Can still conjure it up. Our past is
Like that. It’s there and it’s not there.
In a way it’s happening and it’s not
At the same time. Scenes from our
Past are there to haunt us, to remind
Us of our slight grasp of things that
Once seemed like ours.

Passing Phases

It was a phase
Seemed important
At the time
But now we know
It was just a phase.
Everyone has them
Goes through them
And comes out
The other side
Perhaps wiser
Perhaps embarrassed
Looking back
But that’s part
Of aging
A bit wiser
A bit embarrassed.
We can look back
And a be amazed
At ourselves –
Were we really like that?
What were we thinking
Back then when we
Acted like that
And thought that way?
Or maybe this now is just
A phase, another phase
When we try to rewrite
What we remember of
Our lives.

Owning Knowledge

It began with spelling or the fear
Of misspelling. I’d call out to one
of my parents, either one would do.
I’d call out “how do you spell…”
And soon after I’d get a response
Spelled slowly enough for me
To get it down, fit it into whatever
I was up to, schoolwork mostly.
They eventually figured me out and
Tired of the task. They’d say, “look
It up. That’s what a dictionary is for.”
Then there I’d be, paging through
The available dictionary: alphabetical
Order, page after page, my finger finally
Sliding down a page, sometimes getting
There, other times not. Sound it out
They’d say, and there I’d be sitting off in
My bedroom, dictionary open while I’d
Say the word, try to untie it, find it.
Misspelling became an art, a science
An area for invention. Of course my
Spelling grades went down, but they were
My grades and not just left-overs from
Other people’s memory.