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Count To A Hundred

January 7th, 2012 by Magdalena Tabor

It’s only because we have more memory,

More of the past behind us

To look back on as we age

That we’re haunted by it.

(“Count to a hundred.”)

The ghost of my mother in the kitchen,

Younger then.

Brother, teasing his little sister,

(“No peeking.”)

My father working, accounts for his absence.

 

The ghost of my little girl self

Stares from behind a curtain

Or behind a door in an inner room

Avoiding my direct gaze.

(“…ninety nine. a hundred!”)

But I know exactly where to find her.

The toe of a blue velvet slipper

Reveals itself.

(“Ready or not…”)

 

The pretence of not knowing,

Prolonging the game.

(“…here I come.”)

The thrill of being found out,

Meshed with just a tinge of disappointment.

(“Tag. You’re it.”)

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One Response to “Count To A Hundred”

  1. Levitra Says:

    Hello! Thanks for your blog! Actually I have never seen anything that cool.

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