It smells of old, forgotten things:
damp earth long buried, decanted,
thrift store mysteries, musky tang
sweetened with age.
Cardboard coffins keep memories
in hopeful stasis, denying decay
plastic shrouds betray intentions,
The painting rests, naked,
summiting a peak of obsolete joys,
canvas peeling like flesh from bone,
a window left open to the wild.
An eager staple splits the frame,
brittle kindling craving release—always
the healing hurts more than the injury.
Brett Leanne hails from Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada, where she and her husband are raising their two children, two dogs, and many plants. She is currently pursuing an English degree at the University of Winnipeg with a focus on creative writing. You can follow Brett on Twitter @brettyleanne