Poetry

Red Wing (8/4/23)

On the two year anniversary of your death
I find myself in the city of your birth
Called here
To the top of a bluff
Looking down at the city below
The hustle and bustle
The river in the background
The sickly sweet smell of the granary
Last time I was here was with you
It was Fall
I don’t remember looking out
All I could see was you
All I could ever see was you
Now I search for you everywhere