Yesterday was her birthday.
She looked pretty in her party dress –
the satin one with polka-dots.
Red always was her colour.
The sash I neatly tied,
braided ribbons in her hair –
waist long it was,
how she wore it as a child.
No sophisticated mid-jaw bob.
Her skin, translucent –
a perfect rosebud smile,
like a china doll’s.
That’s the thing about a dream;
it’s got a mind and a life of its own.
It’s been ten month’s now –
give or take the odd week,
day, hour. But who’s counting?
Don’t want to wake up crying,
not any more. Learn to live with it
they tell me. It’s high time I moved on.
And so, tonight I’ll drink at least
two cups of coffee – count
the poppies on the wall.
Listen to the dust … as it falls.
Comments
Bradene | November 6, 2008 - 16:03
Tina this is so beautiful in an awfully sad way. The last line just sums up the whole point of the poem.
However much we think we have moved on or must move on, in our hearts we will always be at the same place, just try to make it a good place for the happy memories. Love Val x
MistakenMagic | November 6, 2008 - 16:24
Beautiful Tina, there's no better word for it but beautiful! The last few lines were perfect;
'And so, tonight I’ll drink at least
two cups of coffee – count
the poppies on the wall.
Listen to the dust … as it falls.'
Magic xxx
Silver Spun Sand | November 6, 2008 - 18:59
Val, thank you for your words. They mean a lot.
Love, Tina x
Silver Spun Sand | November 6, 2008 - 19:00
So glad you liked this one, Magic. As you can imagine, it is rather special to me.
Tina xxx
jennifer | November 7, 2008 - 12:52
Clever framing, superb last lines, so full of emotion. I'm glad poetry helps, in a way. It does me.