Monday, January 25, 2010

Wandering in Other People's Memories

This broken twig,
that muddy footprint --
these show the paths they took
to become themselves.

Here is the campground of her fearful heart,
there is the happy hillside of his youth.

There is the pizza place that still serves
    hot hope for the future,
here is where she buries her forgotten days.

This is the trash heap piled high with
    unsent love letters.
that is the wasteground where time
spent waiting for things ends up,
and little yellow flowers grow.

-Jim DuBois
2004 ish

1 comment:

Cory Raymond said...

Great poem, Jim! Very wistful and evocative. I've spent a lot of time contemplating waste heaps (mostly of the figurative sort) myself. You're an inspiration! Thanks. cory