Boxes of Buttons (scanned notebook)

Lost road, this ride through
distant past -- this mark
35 years old where the detour
started and has yet to stop --
that three day over two nights
trip to the place from which
I alone would return -- drive
there, fly back -- my last bird
flight over the endless stretch
of what has become one great
sea of light. the last face at
airport looking at lift off
seen a decade later at his
mother's funeral and then never
again -- the shreds of a once
close family, spread across
the landscape, the surviving
bits of something I never thought
I would miss, but now miss
everyday -- survival as much
a curse as a blessing -- me
remembering most the boxes
of buttons we packed for that
trip back as if that particular
part of the planet lacked
that singular piece of civilized
life. This existence always
marked by significant
moments we can't help dwell
upon even when all we
sometimes want to do is
forget.