Dropping In On an Old Painter In Autumn
Where is my childhood? I can’t seem to remember Where I put it. It’s around here somewhere, He says, pointing At his heart With his thumb. I come closer as if to help him Find it. Here? What about here? Like a doctor with a stethoscope, I try a few probable places. I thought, for a moment, I found it, he says. Do you still want help? What? Help? With what? Finding it. Finding what? Your childhood? I leave him looking down At his chest As if at a stain. It is a stain.