I don't know why they call it Memory Lane,
I think of it more like a slide,
Falling, swooshing and delving
into the deepest corners of my mind.

One sign leads to another,
a jolt and and a break.
A smell, a sense, a hazy idea
of something resting in the passages of time.

Grasping, clutching at the wispy memory,
distinction lost as the memories blur,
faces whirl by smiling, laughing
 the warmth of unknown sources
stirs nostalgia in the tummy.

The song, the lyric, the beat,
muscle memory strums along necks
and fingers dance along tables.


Forgotten knowledge surfaces,
never lost, just sleeping.


© 2010 Charlotte Chase