We Wait, We Remember
By Emmy-Lou Norton
Morning dew waits
while the autumnal leaves are due
Coffee waits to be drunk
Books wait to be read, words are waiting to be written
Winding roads turn into winding roots,
the neighbours garden is
becoming mine
Weeds grow through the cement,
weeds beneath my feet become weeds in my feet
I can smell burning wood through my windows,
burning wood covers everything I own
Smoking sky is a shared feeling with friends
Are memories actually as good as we remember them?
Photo albums hold letters.
Their address is somewhere that
can no longer be;
located.