A Wigwam for a Goose's Bridle

It is dark and sweet, but not cloying,
this taste from childhood that you thought lost,
offering echoes of memories and a warmth
in my chest. You hear laughter
you didn’t know you needed, like music
from another room. You feel
warm hands that have not forgotten you.
You see dusk-cloaked orchards, tasting
the trace of orange blossom honey.
You let me in. Your own nostalgia
wraps around my heart — a borrowed shawl —
and I am privy to your secret hiding places.

Co-written with Ashka Vrenn