Those rose-colored memories–
too baggy on her frail frame.
grubby little hands
ravenous for distant dreams
stuck in the sky.
do you hear
the low humming–
the growing restlessness
in the nape of your neck
a slight itch–
it bothers you perpetually but
it’s small enough
to ignore.
reluctantly trudging forward
never a girl struggling in
deep waters.
the heavens come crashing down
devastatingly quiet.
punctuating her sacred ground.
The trees stopped swaying,
their faces cloaked by shadows.
Are we stuck in the past?
burning bright in your memory’s flames.