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| Photo by Dawn Sanborn |
An
Everlasting
Thorn
Sometimes
in winter
I cry roses from my eyes;
long, warm streaks across the cheek
that you kissed...
velvet petals draped in my lap.
They lead me to snow,
to the trail from a pickup
where you last slumped to the left,
pressed into the door
awaiting escape...
head blown apart; heart split
in two.
They say that spot
remained
where they drug
your body down from the seat
and parts of your skull
...and beautiful hair
painted the ditch.
It remained all winter,
frozen crimson and buried
under a soft blanket of snow
that fell the next day and preserved
what was left of you
like a bouquet
pressed in a wedding chest, until
spring came like a bride and the ground
took you in.
For ten years, I drove those curves
through fields, upon cold country roads,
the fragrance of flowers
my companion,
while reciting a prayer
and holding
....my breath,
straining
to remember...
the exact spot that you chose,
wondering....
if I had found it
would you appear waving me down
with a smile
like you did the first
night we met?
Michelle Fimon
©2011
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