The Week of Regrets

by Tanya Southey   May 25, 2020

My skin remembers
a long-gone tattoo,
the ink of memory
remains engraved
in subterranean thoughts;
still in sleep,
my fingers
trace the outline
of our youthful

I awake older,
every morning,
forcing myself
to face east
and the rising
of the sun;
the calling magpies,
the screeching crows,
unfamiliar to my
younger mornings

And when the trees
throw long shadows
across the lawn
clinging to
the ending day,
my nostalgic heart
glimpses west
as the sun slowly sets

© Tanya Southey


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