I want to go back to the boat launch,
To feel the oil’s heat and the lake’s cool touch.
I want to unpack that old life vest,
And smell the long dried water.
But I want to remember that,
And walk forward.

I want to walk up my grandma’s tall steps,
To see the old paneling,
To decorate that old tree
I want to be told that it’s too cold
To go out on snow days

To go behind the playground at recess
and play in the dirt; to be told
We can’t play wall-ball one more time
But everything on the playground always seemed to be broken
So I want to remember it,
And move on.

I want to wait for my Mom to pick me up from practice,
To climb over the fence to get my ball back,
Get my haircut at the mall, or be good
at coin-push again
I want the park to seem far away again
For cars not to be a thought
I want to remember all of that.

I think I will,
One day when I’m thirty,
A thought or a conversation,
Will bring it all back.
All of those days I am thankful for,
The clear memories and the faded thoughts,
Half-filled journals might remember too.