decayed

by Linda M. Crate

nostalgia waxes like the moon, falling over
me in the white wings of doves; yet the
memories are inconvenient and fickle, coming
at the worst of times like jellyfish rolling onto
the sea shore during the hottest summer day -
whipping me into a shade of maudlin that I
rather not acknowledge, it spins me in webs
of a spiders then sucks my blood; it's unfair
to think of you tripping over the tongue of my
mind like a laughing girl when your absence in
my life sings the loudest hymn I have ever
known; I don't know when we fell into this
state of decay, I only know that I don't like it.