Her skin is that of alabaster. Wide circles of red rouge pronounced her thin lips and each cheek.
She is soulfully unique.
Her hair of dried stalk was approving to her eyes of vacuous emeralds.
She traveled the two blocks from her home to a destiny where her quiet soul can calmly embrace the cold and warm memories of her life assembled.
Her movements were slow and direct.
Her steps gave truth to determine the effect.
Cruel and ignorant spawns with sacks of dry soil dusted her back and tall pompadour.
She quietly endured the quotidian maltreatment and expected no less and no more.
For she knew about the wicked mongooses; who held tight to the rumors of her past and that they bellowed hateful sparks to a smoldering ember.
And so she knew that their cruel and ignorant spawns kept the fire tender.
She rested her tire wreck frame on her well-liked stool at the far corner of the bar.
It is her favorite place where her quiet soul can ride the smooth free flow of reflections that carried her far.
Far, far away from the deciding stares and contemptuous smiles.
Far, far away from pompous smirks that consistently place her on trial.
She placed a quarter on the bar and waited quietly and patiently for her regular cup of coffee.
She stirred in six packages of Sweet'n Low, that caused the hot brew to become frothy.
After one sip she ebbed back.
Her cognizant faded into black.
She slipped into an arena of memories of her and her twin brother.
An impression of their disturbing and shameless incestuous affair, that caused a rise of pother.
It was a strong and feverous kinship.
They sailed swiftly and guiltless aboard this immoral ship.
It was a romantic fever that surpassed the social working of morality.
To them, it was their peculiar mentality that was the support beam to their perplexed normality.
Naively they thought that their love was a driving force invincible to any intervention.
Their love and conjoined souls built walls against incomprehension.
Then came the eclipse that darkened their sunny souls.
And so their union was, stole.
Stolen by multitudes of rationalist and religious fanatics who were detractor to their opprobrium.
There were burdensome tons of pandemonium.
A million of their tears fell and dried on the roof of misery.
There was no recovery.
During an era of the world disruption, he was sent off to sail the trouble waters of the pacific.
His demise was cataclysmic.
Memories of him holds her bondage
Copyright © Mary E.W. Stephenson | Year Posted 2020
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