Seems Like Yesterday

Here’s to remembrance

—as if a thought rent by time
could be remade 

gone’s gone,
but not-gone is stacked ephemera
in Nancy’s shop on State
its shelves of memorabilia
three doors from the pub
in which ephemera is made
each time we sit,
martini and wine between,
sometimes one or the other of us in a snit,
at others with open love,
knowing snits are absurd as war
and that wars must not be waged
by lovers whose ephemera may be found
by tomorrow’s ardent browsers

with love intact, crisp, unfouled,
sure and good as moments life allowed,
so present and clear it seems
not like yesterday,
but now

Jim Culleny