on memories ~
17 Aug
Empty, clanging brass
sound reverberating in raincoated alleys
as I pass.
Horns and sirens and conversations
meld into one grey drone -
a buzz and hum that matches each step I take.
Shadow that can’t keep time
beside me,
playing hide and seek with the sunshine and clouds overhead,
that drift past and rain in short bursts.
Damp that clings to my thin jacket,
cold fabric pressed close to my skin
by a steady wind.
Wet. Uncomfortable. Foreign.
A second alien skin
that offers no protection, no shelter.
Covering my every move in discomfort.
This is what our memories are to me now.
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