Dust

Ноччу,_інтэр'ер_Жукоўскі

In the back of the drawer,

Amid old shopping lists and bits of string,

Memories flutter.

Once bright,

Faded now,

Into the sepia colour of the past.

Wind stirs the dust,

Eddies of tired happiness,

Gusts of dulled sorrows,

Memories moan and sigh,

In the too bright light.

I close the drawer gently,

While some lustre still remains,

And leave them to their rest.

Published by

Jane Dougherty

I used to do lots of things I didn't much enjoy. Now I am officially a writer. It's what I always wanted to be.

15 thoughts on “Dust”

    1. My mum knew she was going so she cleaned and tidied everything. She didn’t leave a speck of dust or anything that wouldn’t be useful to the ones who inherited her things.

      1. Mine had a heart attack so it was as is. In saying that she was a bit ocd with housework. She had heaps of stuff though.

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