Thursday, August 16, 2018

Those less elegant (Day 575)


Unlikely, she thought, that, 
other than him, anyone had 
stroked her forehead in years, 
singing low to anchor her 
in dreams, like novels, 
where she found herself 
immersed in a fog-shrouded, 
high-school swimming pool 
that reminded her of the power 
she once savored, when someone 
believed she was the most 
beautiful girl in the world.   
Now, viewing the past from 
her butterfly-firm footing, 
how they overwhelm her, 
those less elegant memories.
How they obscure the present,
those early games, and 
the lingering songs her mother
would sing, sitting at her bedside, 
until she relaxed and slipped 
away, like water.


(c) 2018, by Hannah Six

Image: PxHere