The Other
And the sun rays
crack and break
over my arm
a Tuesday morning
drizzling something
I think is love
over my memory
and the curtains
hang
full of our
hazy secrets;
of her name,
and his name,
leaving
no space
for us in between
And my day will begin
shedding hollow fingerprints,
with the recollection
of the other
who held the window ajar
and
sprinkled sunflower seeds
so the blackbirds
wouldn't
fly in.
© Gry W Christensen
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