February 20, 2015

Crumbs of Remembrance


For the time I can no longer taste

A chipped glass, the meaninglessness
of numbers that frame
a broken clock and a solitary ant
resting on a grain of rice watch me as
I take a sip of cold sake.

My lips linger on the rim
of the glass while the moon prepares
to take the sun’s place.
The sky darkens…
…gradually…
            (Time’s way of seeking attention.)
I can’t see my memories
in this dimly lit room,
though I wonder if more light would
improve my vision.

The ant is now carrying a breadcrumb
and I think of you,
your fear of ants.
Memories are a trail of crumbs
that leads me to…


Nostalgia


A land of bygone days where
everything has decayed, yet mistaken
for freshness/
rejuvenation/
another chance.

I look down at my empty glass,
and I hear your voice.
“You’re not supposed to be here.
Neither am I.
But I’ll see you tomorrow.
Should I bake bread or cookies?”

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