Memoirs From This Heart
~
She sat facing the candle,
leather luminous in the light
of flames.
A flame settled,
a shower of sparks scattered
up the glass.
The clock, up high, glowing
of white, stared
down upon the room.
The minute hand moved.
Her watch agreed.
She pulled
on the string, releasing a bundle
of papers, which scattered
on her lap.
She picked one
and took a sip from her glass.
The paper made a dry sound
as she unfolded it.
The black letters,
sharp as the day they were drawn,
cut like a sword.
She took a brief look
let her gaze drift past the candle,
past the clock, past
the faded tans of the walls.
There was no need to read.
She knew
each word,
remembered the days and smells,
could not escape the eyes that moistened.
She refolded the sheet and picked up the next.
This she did not open.
The water still flowed through the valley,
tumbled over the rocks,
tangled branches and weed in the old water wheel.
Somewhere bread was scattered for ducks
that swam in the duckweed.
They waddled through reedy banks
to their nests.
Did the rough bench still offer a place to watch?
She wondered.
Her eyes settled on the candle flame,
as she gently touched the sheet, brittle with age.
The flame lay open, inviting, a gateway
between yesterday and tomorrow.
She paused
She drained her glass, replacing it
on the wooden surface of the table.
The flame offered release.
The paper bent in her fingers.
She took the string, remade the bundle,
walking slowly from the room.
©Dana Price
All Rights Reserved
