Memories, Dreams

It sat on the oldest bench
in New York City's park.

There was no one around
to claim the spiral bound journal.

Approaching it with slow steps,
I looked quizzically down
and read upon dark blue cover,
Please take me home,
Share your journey,
And pass me on.

Curious, cautious:
I picked it up
and began to read.
I wasn't quite sure what
to make of it at first.
Yet as I continued on,
I noticed dates, places.

Seven people had held
this book before me.
Seven people had written
tales of their lives.
It started by the river:
a young girl in a small town
in Virginia.
Traveled to Colorado with

a family of four--
the youngest brother wrote that one.

A new mother found it next,
and wrote about her precious child.

Penned her hopes and dreams
of who her daughter would become.
She handed it to her brother next
who, taking it with him on his flight,
wrote about his time in the military overseas.

Left in the airport,
a history professor caught sight
of the spiral and
smiled at shared memories
before writing a short piece
on his journey home.
Taking it with him northbound,
it was left at the next terminal,
and picked up by the granddaughter
of  a WWII vet, staying with him
for the winter break.

Tales of life left on the living room table,
The warrior wrote about
a short piece of his life he rarely shared.
A little after dawn the next day,
he followed his morning routine,
walking through the park near his home.

Then, resting on the oldest bench in the park,
he sat the journal down and finished his walk.


 (Original version of "Reminiscence", found in my Final Portfolio)