Evelyn

There is that something in her smile that is so wistful;

It rises in the heart's near silent quaking parts

To leave a touched mark upon the crinoline.

The lined cobbled street below echoes with clogs

That then resonate within a waterfall of bittersweet memories

Made out of green petals that settle and then try to suffocate.

The grey ghosts live within these dark walls;

They reflect from the image of the dead priest

To burn the skin with cuts turning to tallow marks.

The father, the brother, the mother, the pain;

The lover the reason to flee this treason: the pain.

Yet it is not strong enough for the fear to dissappear.

And when the black mass of the boat arrives,

She with packets of grief written upon her sallow face

Turns with an ache and from her lover walks away.

With every step forward she took

There is a pause that she forsook

Yet her smile so gentle and oblique

Does not leave her figure entirely dry

She leaves with nothing but questions

And images of what could have been..

And yet is she happy?

Please…

               you tell me…

(C) adh 2016