Sunday, December 7, 2008

poem in progress again....


After all these years
we’ll meet again.

The whole week before,
I remember
in glaring Polaroid flares,
faded and stained
around the edges.
Brittle little memories
in disregarded leather covers,
crumbled corners of this fiction,
crack and flake to sift
through fingers.
They settle in the floorboards.

Still, here you are—
standing on the stoop,
reaching for the bell.


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