One last time
his story will be told. An opalescent window is the
only visible evidence of the sharp cold breeze that
lives outside. Snowflakes flicker and silently dance
a waltz on their journey down. Safe and warm in the
kitchen sits a cup on the countertop scarred only by
a single thin crack that snakes a path slithering up
from its base. Like a vein the crack grows along the
thin porcelain sides, telling a tale of the many washes
it has seen.
One last time,
a black kettle slowly cooks on the iron stove. In a
few more minutes tea will be served. Dusty pictures
sprinkle every wall with life. The vacation to the
Bahamas and Greece, babys first daring and
uncoordinated steps, and grandparents day at
kindergarten. Each picture forever captures a slice
of life, stamps it with date and time and displays it
for future use.
One last time
the exhausted couch creaks as a man takes his seat
gazing quietly out at the trees painted white with
snow. One last time the man wishes to look into his
past. Wrinkled eyelids close on the world outside
as he begs a failing mind to let him relive a memory
one last time. The frigid wind blows at the window.
He takes no notice.
One last time
tired lungs let out a breath of air and the man
settles back into the couch. He sees a younger man
hand in hand with wife as they parade slowly down
the white sand beach on their honeymoon. One last
time the corners of his lips slowly curl and crescent
in a smile.
One last time
the kettle whistles to let him know that tea is ready
but the man takes no notice. Outside the cold wind
knocks quietly at the window but no one looks up
to answer. A snowflake falls onto the opal colored
glass. It clings on looking silently at the man sitting
in the couch before it melts and slowly begins to drip.
The window starts to cry as the melted snowflake falls
like a tear dripping down the glass.
