Young Woman At Her Sill

She dreamt in smoky salmon clouds of dawn, forsaking violets of bitter truth, that he had stayed and not to heaven gone still in the cherry blossom of his youth, that umber hair and eyes he still possessed and held her gently in his solemn gaze whilst with his mustached lips he did profess that he would love her til the end of days. And that he did, but died as yet to keep it ever true, and now she sits alone to look away as jacarandas weep in June and fledglings in their blush have flown. She sits alone with tawny braids a-fray as dreams of his returning fill her day. She sits alone, eyes closed as if asleep before her early window dark and chill. But now awake pretending cannot keep the truth away; she shakes against her will. She breaks another nail against the glass whilst reaching for the strength to keep her hold on life and hopes the agate specters pass that she is empty and her heart is cold, but for a verdant wish: 'tis illusion. Now she can calm herself and breathe relief. What passed were dire lilacs of delusion; she's now protected from imagined grief. She sits alone, young woman at her sill. Continues dreaming he is with her still. 1st Place She Sits Alone Contest Sponsor: Eve Roper 8/4/17