I trace these tiny maps
With my fingers in the sand
Rocks make winding tracks
Across my slippery, seaweed land
Channels filled with ocean
Filling up, caving in,
Buckets, cups, plastic forks, I fumble
Start again
I trace these tiny maps
And I place feathers at your door
This is where my memory lives
In a castle
By the shore
Comments
I love it when words can make me see inside my own head. This is a lovely heartachey scene. I like how much you say and also leave unsaid.
Thanks Yasemin
beautifully written