Memory Motel

In the odd moment
when you cross my mind,
it's like I've stopped
along the highway
at a seedy motel
in the rain-
that heavy feeling
you get
from tired furniture
and tacky drapes.
Hanging on the smell
of molded carpet
and stale cigarettes,
memories of you
suffocate.
Did we ever breathe
the freshness of
green, spring love?
Or was it as I remember-
struggling to adjust
rabbit ears on
an empty TV screen
and seeing only
snow?

© 2011 Katharine L. Sparrow