it withers,
it winds,
it binds to us.
clinging to smells, the sound of your dad coming home,
christmas.
a mother's hug when your eyes get teary.
it's like having dinner with a blindfold on,
you know what you're tasting but not quite.
it all eventually blends together into the same taste,
and you just can't put your finger on it.
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Author:
kaetlynn b. (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: December 25th, 2022 17:23
- Comment from author about the poem: wrote this at christmas lunch today. enjoy
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 22
Offline)
Comments2
After many years of it's absence, there was that feeling-knowing and even breathing-thinking of childhood at least once this Christmas. All that captured in this astute poem.
So pretty, mysterious...and I love the visual.
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