somehow they all fall

quite a spread i say of the
home-made nutella spread,
eric’s unbelievably thin crepes,
the powdered sugar alongside lemon slices,
the fluffy frittata
the slices of bananas and
slices of first strawberries
plus orange juice all
set out on the butcher block for
the grandparents
who came out for emory’s 9th
birthday blowout
_______
the bright red notes pulsing
on the song of the cherry trees
from dawn til dusk in the
backyard orchard
_______
i was listening to eminem and he 
reminded me of you
 eric says
on the front porch during our dinner of
birthday-leftover-plenty
_______
with the mantra to cull hard or go home (even though i am home)
i sift through files and papers
while wishing i could do the same
to the collection of journals and letters
but somehow they all fall in the keep category

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Filed under daily practice, poems, poetry, writing

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