Memory Lane

I wrote this because it came to me. No prompts. It wanted to be written so I followed orders.


Her new coffee cup is matte black
on the outside
the inside is a
beautiful porcelain of lime
the color of rice paddies
three weeks old

The particular shade of lime
reminds her
of the trip they took
to Vietnam, years ago

At a temple
a dozen children
wandered, begging
their tiny hands
palms up, pleaded
eventually she handed one
a few coins

And all the rest of them
real tears
down their dirty
and so she ran away
having no more coins

She sips that coffee
and thinks how angry
she’s been at her
husband, for years

It dawns on her
why now
that it’s the sound
of those children
that slams doors
storms out of rooms
raises her voice
with palms up

Thanks for reading!



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