Memory

This morning I was writing in my morning pages about my times with Ruby, and I suddenly flashed on a memory from my early childhood in Baltimore, going with my grandmother (my father's mom who lived with us) on the bus downtown.  Here's the resulting poem:

Memory

Wearing patent leather shoes

            and white gloves,

Going on the bus downtown

            with my grandmother.

Riding the escalators in

            the big department stores.

Eating lunch in Hutzler’s basement,

            chicken chow mein, or shrimp salad on toasted cheese bread.

Visiting my cousins’ grandpa Harry’s shoe store,

             next to Mr. Peanut

Nodding and waving in the window,

            the smell of peanuts and oil filling the street.

Sometimes we would go to

            the big library, the one with

The science museum on

            the top floor.

Always, we would go through Lexington Market

            on the way back to the bus,

Stopping to buy paper cones brimming with

            buttermilk, creamy and tart.

Almost 60 years ago now,

            she, 40 years gone, me 50 years gone from Baltimore.

That downtown probably long gone, too,

            but alive in my memory,

Even down to the smells of

            department store perfume and exhaust fumes on the street.

I wonder what memories

            my granddaughter will carry

Of times spent

            with me.