The Newness of History

Light. Glass.
Reflections.
The entryway
to a diner you have never visited before,
a place you have roots,
new ones you have just discovered,
new
history,
all the other pictures and plates
of history rearranging,
old portraits splashed
with fresh paint,
Nothing, not even history,
stays the same.

About this poem

It happens all the time. And I’ve gotten a dose of it this week as I visited family. You learn new facts of things long past, and suddenly your view of your own history is….. new.

The picture is from the diner I wrote about a couple of days ago.

Be well,

Tom