Bowling for gym

Strangely, I work there now,

In the same building

where we had bowling

for gym

downstairs.

Now I park my car

in the lot where the van had left us,

walk past the door that led to the lanes

I don’t clearly remember,

and I go upstairs to an office

in the building

where I was in 4th grade.

Sometimes the door leading down

is open,

and the steps to where I think I bowled

are dangerous

and the walls crumbly

and water dripping,

and a workman’s lamp

hooked onto a wire

lights a damp way down.

What could I remember

about bowling underground

when I was 9?

I, who had a tortoise named Tootie

that only I remember,

I, with a distinct, unshared memory

of the neighbor

chasing me down my street with a rifle

after I’d crept onto his lawn

with other kids,

I, with a great grandmother I remember sleeping

in the top bunk

at a nursing home

as if 90 year old women in nursing homes

had bunk beds?

Who could I ask if we’d truly bowled

in a basement alley
where I was a little girl

and now am 51?