Several times near the end of her long life my grandmother mentioned a time when she was very young and her new immigrant father took her out in a little boat on a New York City beach. Gramma didn’t give a lot of detail, but this was obviously a precious moment that encapsulated a feeling of timeless love, safety, and protection. This poem is about one of my very earliest memories … Maybe it will lead you to a fond remembrance of your own.

I cling to the weathered gray fence
Reaching through to touch the gray pony
First contact, magical
Safety, mystery, eternity
Pure distillation of me
First constellation of memory

We were new to the town, you were old
A relic farmhouse and barnyard
Amidst suburbanizing development
I don’t know how you and my mother met
She could have bought eggs at the supermarket
But we came to you, with a basket

One day you came to me
The little pony led you down a busy road
 To the corner of our neighborhood
A small wagon filled with hay
A glorious treat for me
For many kids on our street

I have a photo of that moment
Taken by my mother
But the more golden, deeply rooted image
Has no material record
That first visit, only me and the pony
With you and my mother chatting happily

I wonder now how many times I saw you
What became of the little farm, that friendly town
Mom and I had to leave a few years later
But I remember your name, and your kindness
I would love to thank you now
With adult consciousness

The mind’s eye looks back and ponders
While Time moves us relentlessly onward
Tangled wounds and regrets
Paths not taken
Loves forsaken
Choices mistaken
Yet one gleaming, gilded moment
Can endure and transcend all loss and lament

What images from childhood will we remember?
Some things will stay with us forever
Others will settle loosely
Easily unearthed in quiet reverie
Psychotherapy, or a butter cookie dipped in tea
Most life experience will sediment deeply
Into shadows and obscurity
Swept downstream, into the unconscious sea
The archeology of memory