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Memory Lane



I haven't seen your favorite hat

since the day you moved away.

The tires on our bikes went flat

the day you moved away.

I remember packing boxes, and playing in the rain,

and eating in your empty room

the day you moved away.

I hope you kept the bracelet

I made for you that day

so you would still remember me

when you had moved away.

I forgot we made a time capsule,

it's probably gone by now.

The park has other visitors,

but it remembers us somehow.

That park was never quiet,

but the swings had nothing left to say,

and I refused to touch them

once you had moved away.

I still see you on Facebook

though nine years have gone by.

I search the yearbooks for pictures

where you were by my side.

And though I've been gone too,

I know that park is there to stay.

It holds the long-lost memories

of the days before we moved away.

I think about that park in Oklahoma,

and I can't remember its name.

So from now on I'll just call it

A trip to Memory Lane.



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