That Lost World

that lost world
of revered light
and startling beings

prim grandma
stealing sugar packets
tucking them into an old purse

odd uncle
pulling quarters from nowhere
as if the air were a bank

fading faces
of mother and father
and siblings barely to be seen

but sharp pencil sketches
of schoolmates recalled
as if drawn yesterday

kissing till breathless
in dark corners found
throughout that lost world

that lost world
of plentiful work
and good sweat

party laughter
on worn porches
all weekend long

rare moments of petty anger
dispatched with handshakes
after flurries of small punches

music that made
laughter and struggle
easier somehow

sound sleep
unpunctuated by thunder
or trauma 

what seemed to be
hope sifting over all
of that lost world

that lost world is
now rolling out of frame
a stray marble

later to be stumbled over
sending a body flying
to hard landing

never as ideal as imagined
it was built
to hide itself

even as it swallowed all
in its illusion
of raising all at once

still it held
much joy and much love
in its pockets

as that lost world
fades from sight

it does not feel wrong to weep

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About Tony Brown

A poet with a history in slam, lots of publications; my personal poetry and a little bit of daily life and opinions. Read the page called "About..." for the details. View all posts by Tony Brown

3 responses to “That Lost World

  • Rebecca Ragland

    Yes, but not really lost is it? Food for the page always.

  • DENVOR FERNANDEZ

    Memories shape who we are. It is hard to leave them behind. It may fade in reality, but in our mind, in the depths of our souls, they are always alive.

    • Tony Brown

      Right.

      I’m not a huge fan of nostalgia myself, and I try to keep in mind always that I tend to paint certain things as being more rosy than they were while exaggerating the badness of other things, especially when it comes to fitting those things into an overall understanding of what society was like for the less fortunate during the time for which I’m being nostalgic. But sometimes, it’s OK to recall the good — to put in into a golden haze. And to miss it.

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