Uncanny familiarity

nobody warns you

about the uncanny familiarity

of small villages changes.

Nor do they share

the feeling of grievance

that assails you

when memories confront

urbanization

(or desertation) changes

of your childhood small town.

When you follow known paths

like the one

that led you many time before

to this convenience store,

where you bought 150 candies

with your hard begged for 2$,

Or the grocery store right beside

where you used to walk

hand by hand

with your daddy

to buy breads

On Sunday mornings.

What about the appartement,

two houses away,

where you share your sister’s room,

and an ant infestation,

but mostly love and play dates…

Where I kissed the cheek

of my first boy crush

(that made him cry and call his mommy).

How does nobody talk about that grief

of knowing the architecture

of all those places

having them in pictures

and memories

and in mind

and in heart,

when passing them by as strangers,

Convenience store becoming a simple brick house,

Grocery store becoming a car parts shop,

Old appartement welcoming children, as their second home when parents are busy working.

How can you tell someone,

that where their small humans run their dirty fingers along the walls,

you run them by first?

Nobody talks about the significant amount of time

we spend

and live

and love

and care

in places

we move from,

and are supposed to forget about,

passing by like stranger

Calling new owners burglars,

as they stole away your memories

while wiping walls with mister clean.