As America Falls Beneath Us
Edward Mycue


I miss the friends who've died, many ways things were (but not how tins of Vienna Sausages taste now) I miss having my physical strength, I miss my easily accessible memory (but I don’t miss being afraid of not taking those chances that pass) I miss  songs that Jack Mycue my dad taught us, and even miss my mom’s overstrong concerns (but I don’t miss the dart board and the cold bicycleride bare back) I miss talking to the elephants in the room and I miss the smells in rooms filled with apples (but I don’t miss thinking other peoples’ stories should be my own). Even so, I keep the hope light on because I harbor a dream. 


First published: November 2018
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