Death belies the darkness summoned,
tombstone-colored is the sky,
shards of memories merely fragments,
wailing wind the sole reply.
Violent storm winds strip the tree limbs
like a poltergeist, unseen,
tawdry feeders, heavy wind chimes,
beat against the window screens.
Waiting for the glass to shatter,
like so many childhood dreams,
china teacups, rosebud patterned
in the dustpan, unredeemed.
© 2009 Danielle White