Poem By Naya Blue
Your memories of my life are this pastiche
of old worn records that they don’t make any more.
Led Zeppelin blaring into the heat of summer as locusts clicked away in the
smell of rotting black walnut husks.
You tell me of bits of my life that I am no longer
a guardian of, “remember the time when you...”
Fill in the blanks that my relentless wandering has left all
over worn foot paths on linoleum of the kitchen in this tumble down house.
The floor boards heavy under the weight of repetition
that block the ability to recall any thing different than today.