The Old Phonograph Plays
by Miriam M. Wynn
If I could relive the times when
You and I were happy,
I would close my eyes
And hear the music
From the old phonograph you used to play.
The old songs you used to play,
The old ones you used to play for me
To drive away the night . . .
But, time is everything now.
My bones are brittle
And I am weak.
Old ghosts are frothy mists around me;
Echoed voices are chants trapped in the walls--
Your scent still stains my pillows,
Ever reminding me of you;
The Dowager's Lace on my bed linens crumple
As I reach out with aged fingers
That seem to be turning yellow with age.
Yellow as the linens that cloak my life--
All the children are long gone now;
Our grandchildren never visit.
There is only the scent of old lives
And old promises,
Old music, old parties,
Old loves . . .
The candlelight flickers on the picture frames,
I see the haunted eyes of
Black and white photographs
By myself, lost in these sighing walls,
Alone, listening to old memories,
I recall and I remember . . .
And there is so much I tried to forget,
And there is only so much I regret--
And our children, darling,
They never do come,
They never do visit, our loved ones;
And their children, our grandchildren,
I've seen them only in pictures--
Only in pictures,
As I see you now.
So, I remain enclosed, lost in this
Where the weathered walls echo across time
With aged voices;
And I remember you . .
Remember love. . .
And I try to remember
When I was once happy.
When you chased away the night
With your love and caresses,
And the old phonograph plays
Those swing dance songs
And then you play a
Sultry orchestra that
Seduces me . . .
And I dance in your arms,
Dressed in silk and chiffon and satin,
And you look like a prince in
Your stylish tuxedo suit--
We dance and I remember,
As the old phonograph plays--
Sitting on the antique couch,
I remember you--
Lost in the dust,
I return to you--
And to the old happiness, long gone,
That you and I, my love,
Once knew . . .