Pay attention.
To now. This moment.
I promise you
Whatever you're going through
Good, awful, or mundane
One day, if you're lucky enough to still exist
Nostalgia will strike
And you'll try to recapture
What you were wearing
What you were feeling
What the weather felt like
What slant of light,
How your father looked, sitting at his desk in his
Ben Gurion shirt and khaki pants that
No belt could ever hold up
Above his slender hips
How your mother's students sounded
On their toy- like violins, playing
Variation after variation
Of "Twinkle"
Which dog,
Or dogs were alive at that time
What you ate for dinner when you gathered around the
White formica table that night
After your mom's last students for the day had finally left
Once your father had been a
Woken from his
Afternoon nap
And since
We still can't Google
Our own intimate experiences of things
Pay attention
I promise you
There will come a day you will
Want to recall
This now.
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