Perhaps there comes a time
in life where everything and everyone
you pass or passes you is something
or someone you’ve seen before.
I may have reached that swirl
of actuality, possibility and memory.
I’ll see a smile and recognize the face.
Green eyes flash and I freeze,
even though their memory
comes up blue. I’ll turn, and shadows
will be just so, though it’s noon
or even midnight. You might call
this Déjà Vu, like that old album
I’d play over and over as I’d pine
to see that face in that place
just once more.
Now I do.
Ten minutes of freedom writing, just digging out the rocky ore of my aging brain and throwing it into the blank page smelter of verse. It may be mere base metal. It might someday be gold. But today it’s Poem #9 of NaPoWriMo 2016 and one of my beloved 100-worders.