Deceitful Memories
Standing in the kitchen, the house is silent.
Mama’s door is shut. She’s sleeping or hiding
Floral lined stoneware, in faded blue
A cluster of sticky notes, with the day’s “to do”
Two warm, brown pitchers of sweetnlow tea
Daddy must have been here, just before me
Working through my thoughts, while shooting some hoops
Then strolling around front, to chill on the stoop
Greeted by a kitty, to join me for my walk
She weaves between my legs and sure likes to talk
Forgoing the stairs, I opt for the swing
Humming birds and bees, tell me, it’s spring
Alone, once again, I drift off in daydream
I focus, intense, then ponder what it means
So much sadness, I feel. It’s all that I know
Such a burden I carry, to not let it show
So why do I insist, on coming back home
The first of many dark places, I’d be, before grown
A nostalgic fixation? Or glorified memories?
Turns out, my subconscious, disguised the enemies
Copyright © Anna Hopper | Year Posted 2020
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