New Things Old Love

a reflective poem

Time and Place

It must be a sign of age

That these two essential concepts

Have somewhat blurred,

I was reflecting on other cities I might like to live,

I thought of Montreal, and my heart rejoiced for a moment to think

I could reconnect with my good friend, that he’d be close,

Only to be reminded a moment later, by another internal pinch,

That he died two years ago,

I thought of Vancouver, and my heart rejoiced for a moment to think

I could be close to my grandmother and visit her more regularly,

Only to be reminded a moment later, by another internal pinch,

That she died twenty years ago,

I am eternally too late,

Or too early,

The other day I wasn’t entirely sure of my age,

Even when I tried to concentrate,

I am tired.

I am so tired.

I dreamed the other night of a house I used to live in,

With my parents and my sisters,

We were moving back into it,

It was completely empty and we could fill it anew,

I was so happy to return,

So happy it was empty of whatever filled it before,

So happy to build fresh things,

With old love.