Little things evoke memories of bigger things-
tragedies and bad days.
I see one red-breasted robin and I’m too far gone-
drowning in memories of yesteryears,
failing to see the way out.
I feel the weight of words from your still mouth
hit my chest like a cannonball.
The last things I’ll hear you say.
I see one red-breasted robin and I can hear the songs.
I feel the music slipping between my fingertips.
I smell the cigarette smoke on the shadow of your laugh.
I see one red-breasted robin.
Little things like the smell of bleach.
Big things like the hospital-wedding
where you could barely put your lips together to say I do.
Little things like the trilby hat.
Big things like bonfires.
I see one red-breasted robin . . .