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Christmas, 1981


In my grandmothers house

the rooms are much smaller than childhoods memory

huge unconquerable staircase - conquerable

large drowning wooden bed - cramps the legs

sloping ceilings and uneven floors suffocate in their closeness

the grandfather clock noisily tocks away the time

and occasionally surfaces from his study to check and announce the temperature

late night discussions of knitting and quilting

grandmothers garden would be far too difficult perhaps the rustic square?





Summer, 1981


The more time passes,

the larger the gaping hole of you in me gets

Eating me away,

until one day my tears

will be the rain.





Summer, 1981


I read your letter

like a now familiar tune

the once crisp words

comfortably and effortlessly

play upon my mind,

the words well worn by hands

and eyes, fade

but each time I read

yours forever

I stop dead.

And your waters rise up to

swallow me

as I lay quietly dreaming of you

in sweet nothingness

I drown.




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