A Storied Memory

We took our last photo in front of the Zara store
In front of Flora Fountain, under the plaintive rays
Of the setting sun. Soon after, she left
The city and my life, and the store, housed
In a dilapidated colonial building, shut down for
Renovation and healing.

Ever the religious romantic, I undertook a
Monthly pilgrimage to the precincts, expectantly waiting
For the store to reopen, and hoping to reclaim from the shadows
The fossils of our dying relationship. Eventually, rather tragicomically,
The whole building, wounds, tears and all,
Came crashing down as I watched
The memories rise on the wings of the startled pigeons
Only to fall down, shit like, rainfall quenching the fire
Of a crematorium.