Grandmother's washing line
There are no words. They have left the building like the day you packed it all in and left. Nothing to say any more. Everything has come and gone and there I am left like someone’s old shoes. Battered and bruised filled with holes and trying to hold it together with the tiniest speck of truth hidden in the left heel. It's always the shoes. Yours, mine and that person from 5 streets away. You know the one I'm talking about. The one who has the funny laugh and glint in their eyes. The one with all the kids. The one who is always laughing and telling that same joke that you can't get enough of. God I love that laugh. Your laugh. The people are calling out to us they want to be part of our story. But they can't hear us we are too far away them and also the language we are speaking is not one they have any knowledge of. It's our language, our secret. No one even comes close to touching you the way I do. I don't mean physically I mean you're beautiful way of b