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About This Poem
Forgotten Valentine's
February winds pound the siding, scattering sand left by the snow plows through the gray angry air. The house seems full of small noises and little else. The cat has taken up his guard post in his rug-covered tree house and purrs in tune with the ping of the hot water pipes. Even the dust has settled.
empty chairs
surround a guest-less table –
a cold cup of tea
Scanning the tidy kitchen with its Wedgewood-blue counters and rustic farm- scene border, I note, the cabinets need a good rub down. Murphy’s Oil in hand, I approach the oak with determination, and a soft pink flannel rag. The scent of lemon oil, crisp and clean, wafts past my nose. With great care, I climb a gingerbread chair to reach the highest cabinets over the stove. I balance, just praying the seat cushion doesn’t slide out from under my feet. Opening the double doors, I view a stockpile of holiday décor now unused. There below the paper Easter eggs, I see them and a tear comes to my eye. Empty now, decades old, of all different sizes, red satin boxes, Valentine hearts, forgotten.
blue veins throb
on the backs of aged hands --
a tear falls
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