Turkish Teacups

Clear glasses
curving
rounded
smooth

Memory
Turkey
spices
prayers

Hands
bright flowers
rugs in streets

Washing
alone

What story did you see?

Chrysalis

So much of who I was – before –
I’ve folded up and filed away.

Sometimes – opening a long-forgotten drawer – I find myself there, shelved, sleeping,
and I gaze with wonder – and the faintest stir

of recognition.

A house is not a neutral box,
Nor rooms a mere four walls.

It hears you and it sees you,
And it remembers things,

And twenty years from now – or eighty –

Your echo still

For good or ill

Will be there.