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!