Anachronism

I went back to that old street,

But nothing was the same.

I didn’t recognize the houses

Or the people in their yards.

Someone pulled the stump out

Where the tree used to be

That crashed through the roof

One summer storm long ago,

I couldn’t find where i had lived.

The sidewalks looked older,

The ground had risen and sank,

There are cracks where I use to play.

The creek is still there but smaller,

Full of tires and styrofoam coolers.

A chain station lives on the corner now,

The little Hindu man who sold me pickles

And always called me by my full name,

Has been gone who knows how long.

Vishnu’s shrine is now a gift card rack,

And there are 10 soda flavors on tap.

I am not even a ghost in this place.

So I went to where I live now,

My little place in the hills.

And I saw that were I to leave here

This place would soon forget me, too.

The path through the woods where I amble

Would not remember my footfalls,

The pond would forget my skipping stones.

Only the old crows who keep secrets know,

The untold souls who wandered here.

Only they, who feast upon the deceased,

Care where the lonely have fallen,

For they are the ones fates has called

To pick the world clean of memories.