Читать книгу reMembering Mulatta - Christy Sampson-Kelly - Страница 11

Come Home

Words echo

in a mind snowed under,

breathe

and I am home.

A screeching stop,

abounds short beings

into the street,

bitter cold wind abrading cheeks,

noses, foreheads.

Dashing toe spirits

unapologetically abandon their vessels,

leaving immobile, burdening stubs

at the ends of feet

presencing their absence.

A fleeting glance

through still, bitter air

expertly diverts my timid gaze from the ground

revealing our snow-covered roof.

A warm re-collection obliges me

to scale the mountain that is Albacon Road

through bodily memory alone

knowing another sighting

of my pending ascent

would re-present me here

on the out side of reverie.