Sorrow's Fulfillment
Sorrow is the looming sadness
brought forth by the past
through a hole in the sky.
An image within an image.
A scene of a winter window
a young girl with pigtails peers
out of at nothing in particular
but the last hanging ice-sculpture
bowing the gutter above her.
Her eyes are glassy like that
lone remaining vestige of holiday
warmth and heavy like the gravity
wishing away all the promises made
to visit again and keep in touch;
the last gift to unwrap that
her mischievous orange-headed
cousin rips from her hands
and hides away to be discovered
some years later beneath the
stairwell under a calico-checkered
wool blanket, frayed, the day of her
mother’s funeral, with no
accompanying apologies made
as her soft hazel eyes slowly
fasten a river flush with sadness
for her young adult form, slender
and beautiful, to swim through
next summers and all the way
back to the house that stole her
mother beaten to death by the
cancerous sun, so she can
watch once more the icicles gather;
watch as they droop into puddles of
sorrow’s fulfilment drip upon drip.
A murky pond into which an orphan dives.
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