My returns

My returns


It happens when every a few years

I return to this place

All I have remembered

Has changed so much.


I look at the stair handrail

Winding up in our old house

I can hear a dance music

Being played for the sleepless.

I feel the pulse of anxiety

In the alley leading to tombstones

I relive the penultimate



I beg the world for memories

Though covered by eyelids

All seems to be far away

I touch the stone slowly


© 2016 Barbara Kobos Kaminska All Rights Reserved