Photo by Olivia D Bryant
At least two years have passed
Since I last sensed his presence.
I trust that he made his way
Onward towards eternal light.
In his wake, I ushered away
The lingering imprint of despair
Along with the cobwebs,
Replacing them with fresh flowers.
I pause from my reading to admire
The arrangement of primrose and
Sundry scraps of ribbon tucked neatly
Into an old pint mason jar near the window.
The air is motionless; my breathing stills
As I watch the tender blossoms tremble
Ever so slightly. Perhaps my eyes deceive.
A shadow flutters in the fading sunlight.
I turn in slow motion towards the antique
Mirror above the mantel, knowing full well
Whose visage awaits in its reflection.
Copyright 2017 Tina Jordan All Rights Reserved