Someone--By Eleanor Michael--United States

Someone

The artist in me remembers

brown eyes in a tanned face

framed around with auburn curls.

But, I couldn’t paint you now.

The musician remembers rhythm,

snatches of melody, from songs

you sang – to which we danced –

but not the lyrics, not the words.

The wanderer remembers woodlands.

We walked among tall, green trees.

A creek wound through low hills—

in some park – near some town.

So much I do remember,

but to my shame –

today, for the life of me

I can’t recall your name.

Previously published in Poems of the World

Eleanor Michael has published poetry and short stories in a variety of venues.