That shadow of yours still resides
in the kitchen window
where the orchid used to be.
Was it pink?
I can't remember.
We'd make eye contact every time.
You greyed early.
I admire your pigment
or lack there of.
Your young face filled the window sill
with motion as I'd walk by.
Our eyes would cradle each other
for not long enough.
What if that window had been opened
and you reached out,
or my confessions came flooding into your grasp?
~Tina Meeks
No comments:
Post a Comment