down the 101 past tall buildings reflecting
uncharacteristically clear light
the red gate amongst the clouds
beckoning
travelers
Sagging underneath the weight.
I try to take a memory,
but Can't
I try to sing that lover's ache
to the Castro
on my way Home
to my Wife
.
the moment I realize (this)
my silver slippers
Meet.
About the Creator
Anna Cunningham
Longtime poet residing in Virginia's Blue Ridge Mountains
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