Saturday, May 10, 2014


Leaving my grandmother
is like leaving the city behind as the plane banks
The orange street lights winking through the trees
The trees change to water
The water is heavy
The water reflects the bridges and the orange street lights wink until the mist takes over
The mists which carry me home
leaving her there, tilting off her pillow in the night.

No comments:

Post a Comment

I appreciate your response: