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If Memory Serves me Well
Collated papers filed and the bills paid
as the kettle whistled invitingly.
My son’s laughter drifting in through the window—
I have forgotten to close the billowing drapes.
A sempiteral tableau.
An ephemeral scene crowds in:
The loud curtains tucking at my memory;
my son’s voice trapped in distress.
The kettle whimpered as it boiled dry—
old papers flutter in my periphery …
Copyright ©
Suzette Richards
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