The Dream

Joy R. Wilson Parrish Poem Kubili

Silent footfalls
gliding antiseptic hallways,
a shadow dances upon the empty sill,
a sweeping minute hand counts seconds
Years long gone drift to the floor.

Inhale deeply the fading essence of ether and pine,
violets steeped in chloroform,
crumbs of lemon marzipan-
the flush of youth is gone.

Bone china cracked and yellowed will still hold tea,
a fragmented heart will beat.
Contemplative stirring of the tarnished spoon raises a memory, a sigh in clouds of dust
Death’s last angel at the bedside feasts
on love’s remains.

Joy R. Wilson Parrish © 2018

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