Rain begins to patter on the tin roof as the evening sun fades from the sky.
A puff of wind billows the lacy curtains in the bedroom window while
the fragrance of freesia in bloom among the ivy lingers in the air.
The cool sheets caress my skin and help stifle the growing fear within.
Speaking to me with a subtle click, the clock understands my pain,
But it is unable to erase the memory fresh in my mind.
As I reach for the vacant pillow, my eyes glimpse a filament
of his hair clinging to the white blanket; my breath catches.
When I last saw his face, love for me radiated across it,
his eyes promising a quick return, his anxiety well hidden.
The memory remains, handsome in his Confederate uniform,
waving goodbye, as the train rolls away from the station.
Written for the Friday 5 prompt on Poefusion.
Photo by Angie Clawson
2 comments:
Excellent. I enjoyed this immensely. Funny how one can remember every moment, scent before deployment. And, that picture is the perfect choice. Hope all is well. Have a great weekend. And, thanks for participating today.
The image of only the clock understanding your pain is raw and dramatic! A powerful piece of writing!
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