bits and pieces of words
and sentences
swirl around
in my mind
but fall short of a coherent story
had i not forgotten
all of those love songs
i heard in my childhood
on the radio on sunday mornings
i could describe
the beautiful smell of
burnt slices of bread
my father used to make
on the gas stove
(i still eat my toast burnt)
or watching a cat sleep
in the sun
as i waited for my mother
to come back from grocery shopping
after school
(i still watch cats sleep
with an indescribable yearn for
someone to arrive)
but words swirl beyond my control
incoherent ever
much like the history i belong to
whose soundtrack was
the love songs i have forgotten
from scratchy 45s
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