Walking Backwards

Plate no. 20 How I Remember You, 2025, archival matte photo paper, mulberry paper, 8”x10.”

We all wish we could go back in time.

If you don't, you're lying to yourself.

But if I could go back, would wisdom fade?

The savoring that comes from knowing,

would that be lost too?

They say it’s not that easy to go back,

but maybe it could be:

Close your eyes

walk backwards in a straight line,

simply will it into existence.

So I do.

One step, then another.

Time begins to tick in reverse,

like the old grandfather clock,

first slow, then fast,

until there’s no going back.

975 West Telegraph Road:

past the avocado orchards,

the silver clicker opens the gate,

lizards dart into succulent cracks

as we pull into the car park. 

We open the door to the sweet smell of lilac perfume,

t-shirts gingerly folded on top of the washer.

We hear your cheerful greeting,

as we take off our shoes,

your voice raspy and sweet,

colored by the years, “Come in!”

And we do.

This poem is part of an ongoing project "In Spite of Everything" reimagining the family photo album through mixed media collage and writing.