I am a paper cup on a string
Serenaded by breezes
These are the words of the wind in my ear.
A paper cup on a string.
Thinking. Thinking. Thinking of home.
Of where the cord leads, where the whispers go.
Fed wire side into a mason jar with a cotton cloth lid.
Checkered and still smelling of plums.
Sifted through a salt shaker in the far corner table
Of the old pizzeria down south side by the freeway.
With the damp underside of an envelope
Bringing gestures of greetings long-forgotten.
I am a paper cup on a string.
And suddenly I’m not sorry I can’t keep a secret
Not sorry to wear the word like a weave
Beleiving then it was a worry to send whispers home…
Home again home again zip like amnesia. I am
A paper cup on a string. And this is home. We are going home.