Memory This work is considered exceptional by our editorial staff.

August 16, 2010
Custom User Avatar
More by this author
Tell me you remember
the threadbare hem of a dirty blanket.
the throttled wonder of a broken guitar.
You don't.

You remind me
of the moth-eaten sweater in the dark attic,
of the crackle of a chipped record.

I've memorized the view
from the window of a childhood home,
and the clatter of rain on its roof.
Have you?

But I've forgotten so much.
The sound of footsteps behind a door,
the scratch of knit wool clothing,
your voice.

The colour of the sky,
in that moment when you touched my face,
and whispered, all out of breath,
has left me.

Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

bRealTime banner ad on the left side
Site Feedback