MEMORIES OF A BLUE BUNGALOW
MEMORIES OF A BLUE BUNGALOW
Blue bungalows in a row,
or a walkup flat where the
spiral staircase descends.
Her memory is etched on rice paper
and folded just so, bound with
ribbon then hidden from view .
So many summers have come and gone;
so many so that winter hurries along.
Diminished days followed by dark;
still the wind carries her memory.
Town houses side by side; windows
and doors, who hides inside?
For my eyes are dim, and my wide grin
has been wrapped in cellophane
and cast aside.
I clutch this rusty key that once
unlocked my heart. It bleeds its
brown -red blood, drop by drop,
pooling at the feet of my lifeless
form; but still her memory lives on.
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