In a Storage 1
My life in a storage shed.
Paid for by the month.
I see you there in those horrible boxes.
Kneading the dough.
Our bed no longer holds us.
Dust formed a posse and waits.
Do you think of me?
When I cook I think of those days.
I see Nonna shelling fava beans.
Dipping bread in olive oil.
Ti taglierò la lingua (she would say after a tease.)
Teramo where i was alive.
I see the Domo and those friends.
If I close my eyes I can walk there.
You took the best of me but I have the dishes.
Copyright © Patrick Cornwall | Year Posted 2011
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