when memories are scraps

scraps of our life together
scattered on the floor
tossed repeatedly

when our life becomes
junk hoarded

each crystal figurine
seems to, in a dusty coat,
frown
and shake a finger

each newspaper, one
on another,
screams a headline of
war

when the dog sniffs out
an old banana peel

drags it along
thinking, one day, this will be
useful.


Responses

  1. Angela Boxell Avatar
    Angela Boxell

    Jody,
    Our lives are but scraps. Love this poem!

  2. Jody Costa Avatar
    Jody Costa

    Angela – thank you! Appreciate it –

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