From Memory

I often can’t remember
Where my glasses are, or keys.
I calm myself – it’s normal
And not Alzheimer’s disease.

But certain memories from the past
Are crisp and sharp and clear.
They’re lodged so deep within my brain,
They’ll never disappear.

If, years ago, you called me up
To chat or talk some jive,
You’d reach my Brooklyn number:
UL6-2955.

I haven’t lived in Brooklyn now
For over thirty years;
But in my mind, that phone number’s
The first one that appears.

My nana once remembered
Where she sat in second grade.
In reminiscing, her old self
Seemed like a masquerade.

She laughed that time and other snippets
From her past did pour:
Her first job, selling bloomers,
In a big department store.

I marveled then because, though senile,
She was quite herself;
Her recollections waited there
On an unconscious shelf.

The mind is really rather strange –
It’s like a treasure map.
It’s filled with tiny details,
Yet some places have a gap.