Hankering

There are Monday mornings

following every escape,

shadows behind turned backs,

whispers behind closed doors.

There are footprints leading

away from joyous occasions,

fogs lifting from melting ice,

ragged blooms in mud season.

There are memories wound tight

in skeins of regret.

There are things we kept

secret after all.

Kerry asked the Real Toads to complete and use in a poem this line: "There are things we kept secret after..."