9th Street
There is a cold water’d house
on a bleak winter’d street
with stale musty stink
of unwashed sock and sheet
& dirty dishes left
Still sitting in the sink.
Memories drenched in scent
of kerosene and coal
of Christmases without trees
Colored paper or ribbon bows.
Yet ___ there was laughter, warm
and yes ___ love
Her making toast over-done
and coffee too thin for him.
Poverty of wage and things
cannot suppress the hope
Of loves gentle kiss
As passions
became a foggy mist
of what could have been
Instead of what is.
About:What life is / before I was ).
Author notes
pre-write / deleted / resurrected
What did you think
Comments
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Interesting stuff, it just rolls through the mind. It just looks like it must've been easy to write because it's so natural to me. However, I'm sure the truth is far from. Your words paint such stunning images.
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amazing work and so much fun to read! love it
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omg
i have been away too long i love what u write
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I too have a Ninth Street ...
but mine was Number Eighteen. And yes God alone knows how my mother came by without love.
I was after love was, and then there was no more.
But she gave me the Sun.
Masterfully written as always, Donnzy.
Love
Myra
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