Three old diaries
sit on my desk,
three pale red, red
and light brown books
small enough to
fit in the palm
of my hand, so
small little could
be recorded,
like three bubbles
of the gas that,
stuck in ice cores,
tells us of the
air long ago,
but nothing else.
It was a time
when I was young
and life had not
yet unfolded –
would be nice to
know more than that
I was breathing.
nomdeplume 