My latest poem, read with scented candles š
I read our story in a book yesterday,
found it in an old bookstore,
that smelled,
like your feet ā not the book itself,
but the store. The bookĀ smelled of vanilla,
an odd mustiness, that only comes with age
andĀ marination ā like
the seashell you found
that day we sailed
away,
held it to your ear,
and heard such secrets,
old words,
glue, paper, ink, fibers,
the smells unravel,
long walks with theĀ dog, days sick in bed,
the flowers we planted, the cookies and tea.
This bookĀ read like the Bible, right before judgement falls,
the pages rolled back,
Ā like theĀ sun
acrossĀ our wooden deck,
battered and worn,
markedĀ up countingĀ kids,
chasing butterflies,
catching frogs.
It ends like the
the beginning,
adrift on the waves,
rocked back and forth
we managed to sleep.