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
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