The park

Calls out to me to be remembered, to not be forgotten

 

I forget a lot of things

The smell of coffee in the morning

The toast in the toaster

The cheese toasting on top

 

Sometimes I need things to call out to me

To remind me

 

The park reaches out its branches,

Its path rolling into the street

Flowing into my front steps

Asking me to remember

 

22 Dec This entry was published on December 22, 2013 at 12:20 pm and is filed under Poetry by Jessie. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.