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Only when lost

By Laleh Ghadiri
June 12, 2003
The Iranian

Watching duration take its toll, we reminisce our springtime of life, our
nostalgia of youth unfolding and unfolding only to expose cloudless memories
of summer

We rediscover vintage recollections of the first impatient winds blowing
through grandmother's vivid
lime-green and rose curtains, through and through the
stale-stricken house

Of ice-cream trucks trickling down the street and the carefree sound of
children's laughter as fresh as foggy mornings

Of scrappy tomboys wedged between oak trees and dazed neighborhood passerby
drenched with water balloons

Of immaculate mud pies glistening under June's fiery sun and games of one on
one with the kid around the corner

Of pink banana seated bikes with white flower baskets and
ruby- red scrapped knees

Of casual races through cold relentless sprinklers and water drops arising
the smell of fresh glossy green grass

Of the shadeless moon awakening

Of light tag in the obscure black dark and mysterious stories about the
ripened lady next door

And of soft water puddles splashing
plastic yellow galoshes

Always yearning for memories frozen in time, we cherish these dusty antiques
only when lost.

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