Between the Church and the Liquor Store

The air hung on sweetpeas, on that clean sunlight

Tell me again of the detergent, the bare feet on fake linoleum

Nose prints on the glass, holes in the screen door which smelled of dust

Duvets hang heavy on the clothesline, brushing the sweet grass

We live in parallel to the first ones here, a continuation of a song

Like the yellowed hymnal verses in the Baptist church next door

Windchimes sing from the back porch, thin music carried by the breeze

I think they must have always been here

The people here have taught me that love is remembering