Tonight's Poet Corner: Post-Holiday
Post-Holiday
by Belinda Roddie
When you wrap the lights
around you, I get an
eerie sense of déjà vu. All the
colors taste the same on my
memory's tongue - sweet,
but with an uncomfortable afterthought.
You made brioche for Christmas
again, and pluck-it bread
for Easter, and I
dipped two fingers into your coffee mug
and spread the charcoal residue
around my mouth like lipstick.
There are some things I care to
remember, things that aren't so
sugary, as I briskly sweep
the needles away.
by Belinda Roddie
When you wrap the lights
around you, I get an
eerie sense of déjà vu. All the
colors taste the same on my
memory's tongue - sweet,
but with an uncomfortable afterthought.
You made brioche for Christmas
again, and pluck-it bread
for Easter, and I
dipped two fingers into your coffee mug
and spread the charcoal residue
around my mouth like lipstick.
There are some things I care to
remember, things that aren't so
sugary, as I briskly sweep
the needles away.
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