GRIEF Poem: My Secondhand Memory, by Vesna Prodanovska-Poposka

In this quiet thrift store’s dusty light,
I get a feeling that I can stay and dream night by night.
Like I see a marble with my world held tight,
and your face smiling against mine, shiny and bright.

In those secondhand things, I find you near,
with a smell of the well-known and a voice sincere.
The yearning for you feels so endless,
like a tentacle that I can no longer resist.

Each worn-out piece of fabric full of stories and memories,
and each faded hue,
sends scents to me, quietly saying “I remember you.”
In these thrift store aisles, your shadow remains,
A secondhand love that never wanes.

Author: poetryfest

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