Remember when we used
To go to the special place
Smell the old wooden pews
The memories
And the prayers
Now the door is locked
We lay out a pile of
Old keys
On a wooden table
Wood as worn as the pews
Together we sift
Through the keys
Maybe one will fit
She squeals
With delight
She always has enjoyed
Solving puzzles
Outside
A blue tit
Nestles under the statues hand
Like I would like to be protected
But I am no delicate bird
I am a black bird
Flying out of an unwritten book
After a while we give up
Trying to unlock the door
We only have to close our eyes
To go there again
We hold hands and lie down
Shut our eyes
And whisper a tiny
Silent
Prayer.
I love "I am a black bird flying out of an unwritten book." Lovely to read you, Jae.
ReplyDeleteLove how you've woven all the images together into a puzzle whose key lies in memory.
ReplyDeleteThis is beautiful Jae, transportive!
ReplyDelete"I am a black bird
ReplyDeleteFlying out of an unwritten book"
Interesting lines for November
Happy Sunday.
Much💛love
Great piece of writing <3
ReplyDeleteThis evoked memories of church pews and long-gone Sundays. A wistful balance between the mystery of the keys and vanished idea of protection.
ReplyDeleteThis is one of your most lovely my friend, Jae Rose.
ReplyDelete