Rose On the Vine
She denied him ...
her first true love, yet she would not speak him
the reason so absurdly trifling that
it was gone from her memory ... completely
still, she clung to it like a bible
not a thought given to
his name or care or visage
in many a year ...
death danced before her now
its countenance mocking her age and illnesses
husband of fifty-something years
and three children
all about her, smiling ... putting on "the face"
of expectancy and acceptance
almost as if it was her obligation to make them feel better
about her own death ...
she giggled quietly at the irony
a full life of love and family and travel and ...
and yet ...
the only thing she could see now was his face
all their voices were his voice
the air was filled with his cologne
his hand holding the perfectly-matched spaces in hers
the taste in her mouth, his tender bow of lips ...
"My sweet love" she said softly, her husband smiling
(though it was not him she was speaking to)
"Forgive me ..."
a puzzled look creeping onto her family's faces ...
at this, she gently closed her eyes
letting the darkness wash over her, a warm blanket
dreaming of the life she might have had
and one more gaze ...
her lost love's shining eyes.
~ Poem Of The Week ~ on Poetry Soup, from September 20, 2020 to September 26, 2020 - thank you, Admins!
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