They have memory
so the creases
from where I wipe
my eyes my face
still linger
and they’re two weeks old
now ripe
with a ***** whiff of must
the colors
red and yellow are mismatched
and
if I really tried
I could make them hang straight
but I lost you once before
and I vowed
never again because it’s myself
I have to save first before
I can rescue you
Whit Howland © 2019
Dec 1, 2019
Dec 1, 2019 at 6:41 PM UTC
They have memory
so the creases
from where I wipe
my eyes my face
still linger
and they’re two weeks old
now ripe
with a ***** whiff of must
the colors
red and yellow are mismatched
and
if I really tried
I could make them hang straight
but I lost you once before
and I vowed
never again because it’s myself
I have to save first before
I can rescue you
Whit Howland © 2019
Another poem about a household object that focuses on the human story.
