dirt on the welcome mat

Tag Archives: old

his hand was as cold
as the shining doorknob
throbbing gold and locked
in her memory

keys and cords
kept choking
the copper pipes
in her old home

so barefoot she walked
the stone path
to the doorbell
rusted raspy

corroded happiness
dusted her fingertips
and attic air caked her lips
as she reached

for his hand


I am old
In a young way,
With wrinkled skin so white
You follow its creamy ups and downs
So closely
That all there is

Is soft and smooth.

I am long gone
But here to stay,
Silent and invisible,
Just hollow enough
For you to hear
The echoes.

I am
Inborn,
Unborn,
Reborn.

I am

Your

First

Wish.