Déjà vu

This entry is part 2 of 29 in the series Morning Porch Poems: Winter 2012-13

It was winter then as it is now,
when ghosts emerge with the quick dark.

I wanted to swallow the stars,
dark-pointed and smelling of anise.

I wanted to put away for good those old
angers I thought I’d dispatched.

They flickered, elusive as ever
—though not as powerful.

When next I looked, only small
brown birds picking through gravel.

I’d seen that dirty mirror before, rubbed
its edges with the corner of a sleeve.

 

In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.

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