A poem


always present, but often hidden; they

like to play games, it seems. they slip

through the mind like coins into

a slot; clink

​​ clink

​​​ clink

until they vanish,

close enough to taste without ever truly

touching. they rattle around the walls of

the mind, tickling the brain the way pencils

scratch paper as you write

in a vain attempt to avoid


they are bittersweet (like chocolate… no, not

like chocolate, but—now it’s

gone) recollections; once you think

a thought it is different,


morphed like memories of a memory, reflection

of my mind. maybe that

is why they are so hard to hold


sad poetry
Katherine J. Zumpano
Katherine J. Zumpano
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Katherine J. Zumpano


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