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A Poem by redd Brick Keshner
Letters describe a moment
where time stretches-
stairs growing longer
with each season,
yet the house doesn’t change.
Names slip-
spoken and lost,
like coins lost in a torn pocket-
clinking faintly in empty halls.
Mornings are misplaced,
slipped into tired afternoons.
The calendar lies blank,
scraped raw,
its edges powdered
with erased plans.
Looking-glass memory fogs up,
reflections blur and scatter
across the silent rooms.
Rooms hollow
as unbreathed ribs,
their emptiness pressing in.
The speaker moves,
each step testing balance,
each pause
a fight to recall a name.
The body grows heavy.
But in the space
between heartbeats-
this quiet nestles within its cage.
.
