Eight Years Gone

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Contributor: Roy Blokker

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Eight years gone and I
Still try to hold on.
I gave you my words,
My precious gifts,
A warm water cascade,
A tumble in the shower,
And I don’t remember
What I said.
I wrote them down, no back-up,
One copy just for you.
Did you toss it away
On your wedding day?
Did you place it
Like a rose pedal
Between the pages of
Your favorite book?
Did it disappear when you did?
Did it live within your heart
Until the end
Or did you place it
In some ante-chamber
Of your mind under lock and key,
The key fed in small bites
To your husband
For security?
We lost touch centuries ago
And therefore I don’t know,
And I don’t remember
What I said
But I do remember when
And why.

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I was born in Holland in 1950. Now retired, I am concentrating on the art and craft of writing. I am the author of six books, including four volumes of poetry, as well as numerous articles, stories and poems published by magazines as diverse as "Black Heart," "Clever," and "Highlights for Children."


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