no forwarding address

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Should ever you come calling here
And see the window shutters falling down
The garden overrun with weeds
Peels of paint sadly curled upon the porch

Know that I was happy here.

As transient as ever was –
Still I planted flowers
And some bloomed triumphant
Over-run with weeds now, yet I

Know that I was happy here.

Here where all the quiet hours
Spilled like seeds upon the dirt
Some growing and some dying
Equal measures of hope and loss –

Know that I was happy here

And certain as our death will be
Though I may never be again
As happy as I was before
Know that I was happy here

When I was your hell and awe.

By Eleanor Jackson

Eleanor Jackson is a Filipino Australian poet, performer, arts producer, cyclist, writer, gal about town, feminist, freewheeler, and friend.

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