Jad9
3/4/20
Poetry
holding onto my childhood
in that old house
out in the country
just south of town
all that remains
are open doors
broken windows
and empty porches
no longer can I hear
the laughter of brothers + sisters
or smell my mother's cooking
an old wood burning stove
I sometimes wonder
did we ever even exist
or was it just a family
I dreamed up
so I wouldn't be alone.
2/26/20
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