Crayons Poem by Pok Oi, Esther Lam

Beneath the dawn
She sits by herself
flipped through those dusty rusty pages, where the clumsy greshish sketches of faces, and the scrawling and scribbling of crayons
are engraved on it.

Those days away from the red markings,
she sings and swings and paints the wings,
nights are never dark
in those dusty rusty pages.

Perhaps
touching the gentle rusts left by old Crayons
brings her back to the old times.
The memories won't vanished
as long as the colors are within
The memories won't vanish.
Unless
those dusty rusty pages
Are no longer being
flipped.