The Teal Curtain

Threadbare, faded, ragged from its many unpackings,
each time, deposited in a different storage -
a teal woven curtain, worn meaningless,
hiding
nothing.

The building that contained it - gone.
the people who lived there - far away, most dead.

A memory of a memory of a memory luminous
once,
flaring again, as it crumbles.

The Memory of Smoke

Suburban construction

The burn of the morning sun,
the memory of smoke
soften my shoulders
as I walk past,

not thinking of death 
yet,
till
one almost resembling
the one I knew
(years ago, in my youth),

walks by, and 
my memory blurs
as though I see through tears.