th many sleepless nights, in
th children's room
deconstructing,
what I might have become
well, you know, there's always
th friendly hotel, just down th road
but they remembered the child that
remained, th nervous 12-year old,
and with their own children
leaving, living away
and there's always th attic,
or just th couch in th lounge, but they
remembered th time, th reckless departure
nice, are these old poems or poems written from memories?
ReplyDeleteI always seem to be writing migration poems... they are very much on th surface
DeleteVery fine, Jeltje. Stories & poems dancing together. I like them very much.
ReplyDeletethank you.
Delete