a black and yellow bookmark in shape of a fish
languishing in search of books.
forty seven matchsticks and a bic,
I quit smoking months ago.
a vase gifted on new year’s eve,
adorned with plastic flowers.
a small window in a pithy room,
opens into a wall.
a polaroid waiting in my father’s journal,
it’s protagonists unfamiliar.
a colouring book and a child,
crying for crayons.
two people and years of familiarity,
not enough for a family.