Nostalgia

A thousand varied memories
form patterns in my mind
a quilt-work of my past,
bright here, worn-out there
and yet holding me
in a comforting embrace.
The present must wait
while I snuggle into the folds
of remembered moments,
scratch the tear of old hurts,
feel the bumps of disappointments.
As enticing the future is not
as the seductive clasp of old joys
recollected wistfully on a rainy day.
I know, I must put it away,
this warm, enfolding familiarity
that smudges and detracts from
the aliveness of the present.