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,
and shake a finger

each newspaper, one
on another,
screams a headline of

when the dog sniffs out
an old banana peel

drags it along
thinking, one day, this will be


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

  2. Jody Costa says:

    Angela – thank you! Appreciate it –

Leave a Comment

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s