Time's Driftwood

For writers, there’s always the next chapter, the revised poem, the memoir-in-waiting, and a learned trust in the digital age of preserved existence. (Image by Ripkin)

Time’s Driftwood
            by Odin Roark

From

worn paths seen through heavy mist,
where rubber balls once bounced,
bicycle tires rolled,
sneakers kicked rocks,
Vibram soles trekked.

To

transient echoes heard distant,
where taxi horns blew,
subway rails labored loud,
pigeons cooed serenely,
radio controlled sail boats
dotted Central Park’s lake.

Returned

where gentle touches
made rewarding mother’s love,
child’s security,
father’s confidence,
grandfather’s trust,
grandmother’s faith.

Remembered

as breath experienced,
fate honored,
harvested,
used,
recycled.

Some

become time’s digital driftwood,
life’s residue finding purchase,
becoming written words
in a cloud of perpetuity.