She paused, her thumb caressing
that familiar dent on the brass door knob.
A brief glance, a feathered blink was all that she
took with her, a few memories were
enough. Dare she hope that this house might fill
with more than opaque hues of rainbows
shining through her tears. She wanted to know
how this happened, who’d gilded the past
twenty-years so she’d think she was content.
Please. Stay. Don’t go.
His voice so slight that she wondered if he
heard himself speak. She was a fool in love,
living a fool’s life, and not knowing
her own mind. She turned toward him. A pause.
A tear. A smile. I’ll stay, she said, knowing
that she’d use a different door next time.
Marilyn“Misky” Braendeholmlives in the
. Her interests
include religious (gothic) architecture, gardening, recipe testing, baking
yeasted and sourdough bread, photography, and writing. She has participated in
four NaPoWriMo challenges, and has poems and fiction published with Mouse Tales
Press, Sprouts Magazine, Poetry Quarterly, and Pyrokinection. She has two grown
sons and two grandchildren. You can find more of her poetry at http://miskmask.wordpress.com United Kingdom