Belinda hasn't received the message
Yet
She still feeds the pigeons and whispers
That her sojourn in the apartment
On the corner, midway up, with the closets
Where the suitcases lurk
Is the best adventure she's had.
No bird's gentle burped coo
Is louder than her story
Of watching neighbors
Float in their windows
Profound in their unnoticed slippage
From one decade to the next.
She checks the cases when it thunders;
Still locked, still smelling of cedar, lavender.
She spilled the rose elixir on the train
On a landmass these pigeons have never seen.
Maybe they never leave the park,
Maybe they've chased away the last message,
A harsh scrabble of feathers,
From this neighborhood
Because they like her familiar whisper.
Maybe they keep close
To keep away
The pigeon's lonely ghost
And the long faded code.
Image and bold words are this week's WordCrafters prompt. I'm sorry that I didn't use "cahoots"...although I feel it lurks in the background of the poem. :) Also lurking is the idea that some of the stories that sustain us fade over time, however often we retell them. Not sure where I'm going with this, just thinking about the way change leaves many of those stories pruned and blooming in odd corners.
-- Chrissa
From the title to your ending this is wonderful Chrissa! You have captured the image perfectly with thoughts I could see her having. The memories we carry do have a way of fading yet they linger just the same.
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