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Remembrances



Soft faces in tender places, I remember
Shy lips and high hips, cold, the embers
Soft skin and what could have been
Echoes of stillness, in my labour, I have seen.

Dotted noses and eyes brows, I have kissed
In the throes of passion, questions missed
Loved etched, sketched and drenched
Here now I stand, on the world’s edge.

It is a warm, fuzzy August night, as some books say. Mice scurry about, fat cats on their tails’ ends. I guess this is still so in one of your many books. Anyway, them books have squeezed me out of your heart and mind. Surely strange, but to love you in one still world is impossible when you live in so many. I am sure, too, that there is a pretty poem that says what’s in my heart about our situation. Adios.

Feverish nights, grey nights, my dreams are possessed
Yet, come morning, the old hauntings are to be dispensed
The day is come, revealing the world as it is – boring
I long for dusk, then I can pirate to adventure – roaring.

It is a holiday. I am in the house. With my husband and son. It is a dull day to be outside. My son – such a bother he is. He asked. Where does the world end? Where does it begin? My husband shrugged. Your problem, he flexed a smile. So, I thought of you. I hope you find the answers. For our son.

There is song in the water, in the wind, in the sky, in the earth
There is dance everywhere - the battlefield, the hearth
The church has begun their all-night worship – chanting and singing
The guilt creeps in, why am I drinking – and my other sinning?





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