Memories

You saunter down your street
as if for the last time,
pass a store you’d
seen for seventy years—
a deli whose name
you’ve forgotten,
but you can still taste
their tuna sandwiches
with crunchy celery
and vinegar chips on the side.

The owner, also
there, for decades,
shoulders caved
with unsteady gait.
What’s his name?

Oh and his wife,
with that floral kerchief
on her head
and unmatching apron
standing cross-armed behind
her husband who chats
with all the customers.

Why are feelings
easier to name
and smells only elicit
snapshots of vivid memories?

You wonder such things
as you age, although
you’ve been caring much less
about these wonderings.

Those moments—how they matter.

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By Diana Raab. Published in The Soloquist, February 2026