Obscured

The years are only as real as you want them to be.

Do you remember being a child

walking through the apartment

while mother was in the kitchen 

and father had yet to arrive from work?

Our memories accrue with each moment

and yet so much goes unremembered,

forgotten until the jar is shaken up.

Father would take you to the airport

and park nearby so the two of you

could watch the planes flying in.

Behemoths soaring across the sky,

touching down in the near distance.

Years later a few miles away

you would be sitting in your car

trying to pull your pants up

as she straightened herself 

as a cop shined his flashlight

into your window 

on an anonymous night.

Waves crashing on the darkened shore.

Moonlight obscured by the clouds.