my aunt
My Aunt
A Sunday of yore is still visible
floats around my mind at the edges of memories
send signals, how much I loved her, but she
had taken the train to visit her father
A Sunday that had no worries about tomorrow
other than if Inter café closed early, I would
arrive too late
I walked in familiar streets thinking, happy thought
Suddenly, I was outside my aunt's house
she was of the festive sort, a great talker, not for her to spend a Sunday reading books; Sunday was
also, the day she baked coco macrons
What a great day, drinking coffee, eating cakes and
smoking cigarettes, the damnation of smoking had
not entered our world
going to the café Inter, I walked through the park
that bathed in golden light, yes it was a great day
to be alive
Copyright © Jan Hansen | Year Posted 2024
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