I Wonder How

I wonder how the old folks are at home, today...
In hindsight, while silvery trails of recall
are leading me back to myself, I shake my head
to mutter, “Good fortune, I hope.”

For the hay must be brittle under the July sun
and Uncle Jim must be threading his way on
the gravel path through the twisted black trees
with dogs leaping along the curves of his legs.
And warmly nested, Aunt Madge,
in her pink paisley dress two inches below her knees,
must be breaking
the eggs into a bowl with a hen’s cluck.

And Janie, with affection for the sun, spread
like a pancake, breathless, on the front porch,
must be daydreaming of stealing away
to meet her fireman, playing cards
inside the fire station.

The rest, however, are lost to me within
an immense prairie where the wink of an eye
may have meant many things,
such as me suddenly leaving inside a train,
motionless, while I imagined the sounds
of Tony’s guitar with a fondness, which
still plays
his folk-tune-blues inside my mind.

Most everything’s a shadow now,
like scars of invasive surgery,
yet, I’m reminded of the ironic presence
of memory bickering and snapping again.

Yes, I wonder how
they get along back there,
without me
apologizing for things
I didn’t do,
in anticipation.