Ella Sueno

January 8, 2008
Every grain of sand

Becomes a pigment of memory

A memory becomes captured
In the lens of a mothers camera
A speck of light gleams through
The walls of molten sand while
the fire in the hearth is its

only competitor

The feeling,



Stomach churning


Cotton balls in a jar

Play the role as a cloud

For my dancer from

Grandma when I was five

Memories have been stowed
Away by the prettiest pack

With gilded harnesses and

Booted paws

The wind acting as a


It wakes me up from my

Over dose of anesthesia
From a moonlight cloaked jar

With a cork on top.

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