Through the pages.

I thought I had lost a leather-bound journal given to me by a friend in 2002. I thought I had lost it in a fire. but I didn’t. It was in one of the boxes of things I stored at my parents’ house. I probably stowed it away because it was too painful to keep around. It was given to me during one of the most difficult times in my life. And here it is. spine ready for a backbend. to show me its insides. and remember. This is the last piece I wrote before tucking it away. on a page marking a third of the way through the pages.

nothing for the weak at heart
pastel walls to soothe the nerves in blues
watch out for the claw traps
when you’ve just kicked off your shoes
powder puff in muscle tees
shined up shoes with wounded knees
try the chicken Bolognese
and listen for the wake-up call tomorrow
desert winds on parched skin
the babies snooze in tuxes
and momma in her sequined evening gown
strolls him around the slot machines.

Written Sunday, May 25th, 2003.

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