Quite naturally, we’ve been collecting photos/ wrap them up in plastic suitcases
preserve them/ loving things/dead and easy ways of what was/ what scars/ what sacred dark symposiums
Confidential truths, yellow-yoke factories
golden, broken-folds playing over and over
seven minutes hard -boiled
we like them five-minute memories scrabbled
among the distance, it has taken many stretched arms
too stretched out of love to call them holy
too tired to press out any more lies
I’m not sure we could
quite naturally we are, scattered pictures of 1988
polaroid black, white stripe at the bottom
moving steadily, while the sun sleeps over yonder
playing in the dark, rising lungs gasp in weepy
rainbows, written in the veins of private sectors
living this that is…
change with suitcases, black duffle bags,
no strings or at least we got on Greyhound that way.
Left all that, sin-crap standing on the curb.
kick rocks, beat them, drown that sorry out
One bedroom, three children sleeping.
Bumper stickers, Jesus saves on windows.
Pancakes for breakfast, for lunch for dinner too
Put that polaroid on repeat, play it back slow
and remember~ your kindness sister Krissy Mosley
That ending! I gasped!
love it, thank you Lori 🙂
I want to say that playing back some polaroid of the past is not healing, but that’s what I want to say — not the truth. thank you.
got that right 🙂
and they stay on our minds at some point
Chile. Yes ma’am I’m with in every beat, breath of them words.
lol love ya 🙂