The calendar remembers your guilt
Your diary remembers the fight you had
The day the robin died
That sniffle that broke into a cough
The itch around your ankles
From too much sun
The way your hair keeps flopping over
Until you had your haircut done
That feeling in your eyes and nose
In spring the pollens and the roses
So many times before
This seems like somebody else’s life
Not my own.
Its not the first time anymore
But everything is new
As I struggle against it all
To make a dream come true.

"Miss Madeline In The Bedroom," by Chris Arcus, copyright 2011

Categories: poem by Chris Arcus, Uncategorized