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Spring Cleaning

Home Resides in the Memory of You

By Sydney Lee JonesPublished 2 years ago 1 min read

There are tufts of you,

tucked away

in the shadows of my home,

out of the light of day.

As I sweep, they float and flutter into the beams

that shine through my window in the late afternoon light.

Before, I longed to rid my home of their presence.

To hide them away from couches and clothes.

But now,

my eyes prickle.

Even after all this time

you are still here.

Wisping in the back corners waiting for your turn

to emerge and play once again.

I see you often,

on a dirt road with the windows down,

running alongside.

The ring of your barking

a church bell,

bouncing off the trees of a Sunday’s

afternoon air.

Or in the early evening,

the heaviness of your breath

fogging up the hardwood floor,

a twitching nose

to the smells of dinner time.

I wallow and rest in these moments

but none take my breath away

like your hair littered across the floor.

The tangibility of you, so close

it reassures me that you really

were here.

More than simply a great dream that

sometimes in the night,

I wake from.

But instead of a lick to the cheek

I am greeted only by the

sound of my own heartbeat

loud and pulsing.

I know that it is a memoir to your tail,

beating against the walls

of my chest.

I did not know this type of love

before but now,

How could I go on without.

How could I sweep it away

as though it were nothing more

than dust.

sad poetry

About the Creator

Sydney Lee Jones

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