Evocation

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.

Bonfire hearts.

I see one red-breasted robin . . .

for Roy

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