In the crooked corners
of a house I no longer own
are bits of our lives left behind.
A pair of shoes, toes-tilted,
from a recital we didn't attend.
Books, pages uneven like promises,
still stacked along the wall
where the water came in.
We tried to peel them apart
but in the end it couldn't be done,
the stories had become each other.
Ivy wilding down the
sides of my grandmother's funeral
plant. That candle, the one
you never loved, the one forgotten until
we couldn't decide
where it came from,
who it should follow.
howdy. just wandered over from NaPoWriMo, and i really enjoyed this.
ReplyDelete*waves* Thanks!
ReplyDeleteI'm really appreciating the pressure to write something every day--I thought I'd be stressed about it, but it's been useful so far. Then again, it's only the third.
::waves back::
ReplyDeletei agree, so far it's an enjoyable challenge.. we'll see if we're still enjoyin' it come the 21st!
-kim.