Not My Memories

Awakened by someone else’s dreams,

vague, unlived memories.

Sepia toned or black and white tasting of

big band music,

the failing of an empire or falling off the earth.

A voice speaking of a tropical veranda

where tigers paced beneath louvered windows.

The not mine voice told

of the pom, pom, pom sound a pug, a trail along the porch.

Heavy breathed feline greatness panting in the humid jungle night…

-Sumatra?-

I, awake fully now in the humid corn steam wet of Iowa night and wonder,

where this memory palace is built,

whose rooms these are.

I walk the hall, wonder if it was something I read,

or saw in a film

or was it then another dimension, a time trip me?

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