Inside a department store,
Busy day, busy people,
Second floor, sound of floor, sound of leather,
And at the corner, a section
Full of picture frames.
O how we ache
For the shape of rectangle,
Then we start to count the places,
The faces,
As we pose ourselves
The question.

     How do you rid yourself
           Of memories?*

© 2015 J.S.P.