These Little Things

Remember the taste of sweet cornbread?

(Sticky honey,
butter melting
on the tip
of your tongue)

I remember these things,
like spectres caught beneath my wings.

I remember the sun,
and I remember the rain.
I still smell the lilacs,
I still feel my kitten’s soft fur.

These little things,
so soft and fresh
are the tomorrows, the somedays,
the might-have-beens.

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