Memories of Light

You parted your curtains,
neon light fills the room.
Jasmine blooms in a paper cup.

Small boats sail up to your window,
the crew looks in through the glass.
This does not disturb you.

They wave.
Or do they doff their caps and mock you?

You wave back, uncaring, and
almost hear the ocean.
You sense a memory being chiseled
from this room, this night of dumb peace.
and think, I’ll come back years from now,
to be consoled for some future pain,
unknowable tonight.

A hand closes the curtain.

Trish Saunders writes poems from Honolulu, Hawaii, and Seattle, Washington. She has been published in Blast Furnace, Off the Coast, Right Hand Pointing and Snapping Twig. She has won zero poetry awards.

This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.