Through the Window

By Abisola Fashakin

She opens windows seeking memories she’ll never find 

The cobalt salty kiss from ocean waves, 

The never ending summers spent, and preparing to unwind

Small fires, torpid songs in secret caves.

She leans out windows breathing thrilling smells  

Of grandma roasting crispy, golden chicken pepper stew   

The salty breath of  orange-coral seashells,

Of mother’s lilac scented sundress and pinkish purple hue.

She touches windows recalling the feel   

Of broken glasses, blues and emeralds, always on a beach, 

The  yellowness of  tokened lemon peel,

Not Knowing memories would always reside outside reach

But smiling, she didn’t mind.

She closes windows, shutting rotting blinds


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