They meet for lunch. The shuffle of feet
With their different sounds according to the shoe.
A line of white cheese sandwiches.
She no longer ate meat and noticed now
Those shoes, the belts, the bags made of leather,
The skin stretched taut over the couch,

The ottoman.The little girl
Had liked chocolate ice cream most of all.
Her favorite possession: A yellow bike
With a plastic basket and streamers gleaming
From handlebars. She read
An old man’s mind and chapter books
By Judy Blume. Bandage the wounds.
Tend the bruise, the insult, the scab.

If she carries enough memories
Eventually they will become
Too heavy to hold or swallow or
Chew or lug in a massive bag.
She will have to start letting them
Fall away.

She interrupts, taking her warm bowl
Of foreign lands into her hands. She moves
Rough as a rope, taut as all
The secrets she promised to keep.
She practices non-attachment. She eats.

Back in her office she leaves the door
Open for you to peak over her shoulder,
Onto her multicolored screen. She runs
From room to imaginary room.
Somehow she must release the light.

This poem is a collaboration, and uses lines or verses from the following:
Rethabile, Christine, Carolee, Nathan, Holly D, Dana, Dave and Jillypoet.
Some of the lines are mine too…

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