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