It’s time for moving on
beyond the mobile sculpture
photos of the old Blunderbus,
Ginny doll in faded red velvet dress,
lace collar and a straw hat tied
with fancy ribbon in her steamer trunk.

The lines unclear between past and present
Foggier still, the boundaries between 
the me of now and the me of then;
the you of then and the you of my mind
And I think about the Past Perfect…

Brothers, sisters, aunts and uncles
dogs, cars and rollers-skates
The Flying Arrow on its steel runners

And under my pillow in a Truro bed
a tiny doll of excelsior and colorful thread
left by the tooth fairy
Or an Easter bunny so creative in his hiding spot
that fun-filled basket in the crux of the willow

The strands of red yarn you threaded late into the night
to make a perfect wig for your Raggedy-Ann daughter
in a first-grade play
hiding my embarrassment
that you had worked so hard for so little
while Raggedy-Andy’s mother simply took scissors
and a few minutes to the sleeve of an old T-shirt
to make his wig.

In our house across from Cookie’s Tap
you hand-sewed my brown leather vest
decorated mittens made from old sweaters
Did you think I could ever forget…
that I would, or that I should —
these, and all the other things?

The you of then and the you of my mind.
The Past Imperfect.