8486. ROPE HANDLE

ROPE HANDLE

Men who built this garage

left traces : scrawl lines and

marks of concrete and hammer.

All like things left behind, these

lines. Now it's all just a memory

of what may have been said : I

was only 8 years old, but who's 

counting? They left an old suitcase

in the section of loft that was old

from before, maybe 1922. I looked

at the newspaper  -   Al Smith this,

Al Smith that. He was a New York

Governor or something, running for

something else. I didn't much care

and am never too affected by that

sort of tired news. What caught my

attention much better was the old

rope handle someone had woven to

hold together this broken valise.

If that's the word  -  suitcase, travel-

case, footlocker, who knows? We

opened it up, my father and I, 

and inside was a box of ivory 

dominoes and an old saxophone.

I loved that right off  -  the tarnish

on the sax was so bad it was 

almost black/green, in a shade I'd

never seen. Now, only now, I

look back, or think back, to what 

all this was and I can hardly 

remember a thing. Not even

exactly when or where it was.

Hard to understand all those bends

of time and circumstance. Al Smith?

I guess I can get a year from that, 

but that tells nothing  -  old papers 

were already old at the moment 

I'm speaking of. Or near. Nothing 

more to figure out, just the most

curious rope handle, as if

sent from above for

safekeeping, here.