Today is my mother's 70th birthday; tomorrow is my father's 69th. And to think I remember the day my mother turned 30 and my 29-year-old father teased her about being old.

Anyway, even though they're unlikely to be reading this blog, I'm posting this poem from Boy Land for them, with much love.

Nostalgia

Dawn Potter

It was darker then, in the nights when the cars

came sliding around the traffic circle, when the headlights

speckled with rain traveled the bedroom walls

and vanished; when the typewriter, the squeaking chair,

the slow voice of the radio stirred the night air like a fan.

Of course, the ones we loved were beautiful--

slim, dark-haired, intent on their books.

The rain came swishing against the lamp-lit windows.

The cat purred in his chair. A clock sang,

and we lay nearly asleep, almost dreaming,

almost alone, nearly gone--the days fly so;

and the nights, like sleep, disappear without memory.