Posted in Uncategorized

The Door to the General Store.

 

This door once swung between childhood and sweaty nights,
Soda shop fountains and cigarette kisses.
Touching on dreams on a rooftop in Brooklyn
seemed so far away on this porch in your arms.

For dreams seemed as far as the stars
and now I have everything I need.

This door once swung between my fingertips like the sands of time.
And now the time between my fingertips have sagged for years.
Like the kite we flew in Prospect Park that Memorial Day Picnic
when we first met.
Skin on tethered bone.

 

 

 

Author:

Theatre Maker. Performer. Teacher. Student. Poet from way back.

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