Written

surface reflecting

amber quielty against the waves

that ripple do delicately

the rocks skim

as i throw them

in

simplicity breathing

the fresh air

sitting there

breeze blowing

my brownish hair-

before,

 

 

my pen does

write of memories

encased

small bound leather

of wanting, needing

a release

 

now,

the weather

brews outside

making

our attic space

almost unbearble

to breath

heat jamming

the door jams

with

nowhere

to run

 

you can’t

even run

if you wanted to

 

now,

stifle

your agony

 

be

silent

 

the penmarks

we decipher

her

was she

angry

not always hopeful

 

trying to understand,

after

 

Anne