At Marie's Memorial

From In My Old Age ...

At Marie’s Memorial

I stand as still as a corpse and stare at photos,

Playbills, cast lists of forgotten plays

On abandoned stages. If the wages of death is love,

Then love fills this room. But in the corner,

Lurking like a naughty child, is more sadness

Than I want to feel. All the years of the past,

Dripping memories like rank fruit, rot

And fertilize the heart of this place.

So much has changed.

So much has been forgotten.

A lesson earned is not a lesson learned:
Those times were good -- and never can return.

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