If you could see a movie

Of your secret life

Would you recognize yourself?

Or would it seem a small whisper

From the dark interior of a cave

Or a shout from somewhere deep

Inside a closet

Under a pile of old letters —

An embarrassment best forgotten?

 

If you could see a map

Of your secret life’s landscape

Would you recognize the hills

And valleys as the heights

And depths that formed the muscles

In your legs?

 

The secret life left behind

Is soon forgotten

And long remembered

In the dark night

And alone while driving

Along a back road

Where the stones and gravel

Kick up against the fenders

 

And the smell of forest litter

And dry leaves insinuates

Its aroma into

The fabric of your

Turned up collar

 

Like a lingering scent of familiar

Perfume on the breeze

Or new varnish on the floors

Of the schoolhouse

After a long summer vacation

 

 

by Diane E. Dockum