Like a Damp Wind
By Deb Benson
This is written for my brother who I spent the weekend with. We hashed over some old memories that neither one of us wanted to explore, but we did. She walks thru empty doorways Down the narrow halls of memory Drenched in anxiety She sits and explores the memory It tumbles over itself The memory Like a damp wind Rises Sifts thru her hair And moves on Leaving only the fondest ones intact Written April 17th, 2002 © on Apr 17 2002 06:13 AM PST 18 • 0 • 10
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"This is written for my brother who I spent the weekend with. We hashed over some old memories that neither one of us wanted to explore, but we did...."