buried reflections.

there are cracks in the walls of this old house,
where memories have seeped inside.
in one, i’m running through
dew covered grass
while you drink black coffee and
smoke a cigarette pulled from a
red and white pack.
by now the smell of smoke has faded and
memories like this one keep
slipping through the cracks.

i often find myself sitting in that
coveted grass
mowed 4 years over, sun dried and
full of weeds,
wondering what you’d think of me.
‘cause i’m still as unsure as that girl you knew
and i still can’t pronounce ‘marlboros.’

maybe it’s best i don’t know you now-
and you're just one more thought to
nestle into this place we made home.

just a thought.