Emerging from the tunnel,
The face was new,
Guarded now by toughs--
Tattooed brown skins,
Dark slanted oriental eyes,
Angry, isolated boys.

The spiritual map still knew
Bekkerweg: right through town,
Left, and up the slope.
But town was camouflage--
Mine landmarks gone--
I wandered.

Only St. Pancratius stood
Solid and unchanged
On the northern fringe,
Akken rails still ran east;
But Saroliastraat was wrong--
Thirty-four years, lost.

08/19/2007

Author's Note: Memory reconstruction of the summer of 06

Posted on 08/20/2007
Copyright © 2024 Leonard M Hawkes