Poetry & Prose by Tanya Miranda

Sunday, October 13, 2019

Raindrops


The sounds of droplets against the window
Call distant memories to mind.

I'm thirty-six, staring past the window sill,
Drinking a glass of red wine.

I'm twenty-eight, working late,
Struggling against a deadline.

I'm twenty-one, kissing my boyfriend,
Our bodies intertwined.

I'm fifteen, writing in my journal,
Questioning mankind.

I'm eleven, drawing silly pictures,
Without direction or design.

I'm seven, staring out towards the sky,
My imagination unconfined.

The sound of raindrops brings back simpler moments
That real life leaves behind.

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