Who knows if the lilacs bloom, still,
underneath my childhood window,
or if that glass itself remains in place?
Who knows if the fossils fall like rocks
onto the beach from the face of
the sandstone cliffs, shells closed
around their ancient secrets?
I am not so very old—not old at all,
in fact—but the world that I grew up in
is long gone.
And sometimes when I think of it, I mourn
the loss of silence, and the world
I live in now, well, I mourn for this one too,
maybe more so.
(c) 2017, by Hannah Six