if you're wondering
where my irony has gone
you should ask the snow
you should recall the nonsense;
it's easy enough to remember
how i've aged.
how we've seen better days.
there is something so trite about a conjured poem;
so utterly eventual
to put it plainly:
i once saw and felt in different skin
but this sheath is remarkably dull
and worn down by the years
well, to be accurate,
it's the days
isn't it?
yes, that's right
the days.
if you're still reading
i will tell you
today i spent some time thinking
about my mother.
2 comments:
did you write this? it's lovely.
I think a lot about your mother too. And about you. Hope I get to see you again this summer. I want to squeeze little Dinah until she squeaks!
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