Hour Five

Closing My Eyes

I can hear
your feet padding
to the kitchen
See soft, pale feet
sinking deep
into red shag carpet
smell purple shampoo
meant to save your silver
taste the salt and satisfaction
of bacon prepared
with a Granny’s love
and bony fingers
and feel the smoothness
of your cheek
beneath my kiss

That was home
where “flitter” and “sugar-booger”
rang in the air.
And there’s no going back.

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