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

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