I'm looking for poetry in my old journals But all I can find is you - reminders for a Christmas show, a shopping list - sweet potato, fresh lemons, dinner up Grouse Mountain for Jan's birthday, a potluck, a games night, ticket stubs. What was I thinking keeping all this junk, detritus carried down the river that was us. I'm sure we began at the foot of a glacier somewhere me sublimating at the time but it was a short run and now I remain mired in our estuary. I'm waiting to write about the sea again dragging notebooks and journals off the shelves, digging in the mud. Somewhere there's poetry without you. I have to believe that.
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So good. Thanks for sharing.
You will , remove the trash