Runcible Spoon

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remembrance

 

I remember the fermented stench of manure,

and the one-eyed cat polluted with worms.

 

I remember bleached stars and a sky free of scrapers,

the bonfire’s tongue rising to mingle among the seeds.

 

I remember the threat of snakes and speckled geckos,

grasshoppers clinging to naked thighs on a scorched four-wheeler.

 

I remember firm cookies stored in the freezer,

my breath thawing treats from weeks before.

 

I remember paper shedding skin from bubbled walls,

the deafening silence spurring nights of insomnia.

 

I remember a worn deck of cards scattered on the kitchen table,

sealings holes of a ratty tablecloth with portraits of kings and queens.

 

I don’t remember how long I’ve been away.