Stationery of Memories


Inside my desk is a photograph;
it lies there — without dust,
unseen by strangers,
always present

when the drawer is opened.
I turn to my journal, and
between busy pages is
a poem in looped-cursive hand,

like a bookmark of petals.
Flowing from my pen
words that skitter across the page
smell of those summers when

musk intertwined with rose ribbons
of lovers’ hearts. I close the book
pressing verse on verse then
slip it back in the corner
beside the picture

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: