Somehow

Somehow
love from the past
can fully exist in the present—
in parallel to the book on the shelf
that has survived a number
of household liquidations
for the annual neighborhood
garage sale.

It was given to you years ago
as a reminder of a certain day—
its thin green spine
stands up straight,
pinned between
“Exploring Europe” and
“Majestic Island Worlds,”
content to be a splash
of your favorite color
in the paltry travel section
of your modest library.

But when you’re alone
you slide it out,
open it slowly across your lap
because it still makes you smile
and cry.

The pictures of “Gooseberry Falls”
and the trails covered with snow
remind you of the long white drive
up from Duluth
where you spent a few rented nights
pressed to a warmth
that is now a small glow
that lights your past—
part of the necessary melancholy that
makes your happiness
whole.

 

DeMaris Gaunt
10-11-11

 

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