Childhood

I'm leaving my mark on the window glass
Fogged by Christmas morning.
The cold clings to my fingertips.
I remember the brown of the carpet-
The only warmth after seeing that
Dead bird outside my window.
The white walls
The messages written in the grain of
Wood in the side of my bed-
Things to distract me from
The black red dead void eyes
Of the gray mass of feathers outside my window.
I wonder what's happened to that place now
The scratch on the frame of the door
The green curtain rolling in a small town breeze.
And I wonder whose dreams are
Being guarded in the corner where
I used to sleep.

Reviews

[The Elder]

Nice nostalgic write.
I like this piece.
Your emotions are apparent, but not overpowering,
your memories gentle and thoughtful.
Good job!