And so why does my mind
Ask questions that have no answers
But hang around my head
Like rings of smoke from a thick
Haitian cigar
Anyway?
Questions about the places
I abandoned and carefully forgot
Buried in tear-stained sheets
So many years ago
When empty words held me safe
And touch was a place I did not know
But dreamed about every night
Anyway.
©2014 Terri Wallace