Blanca’s Chair

The smell of
Jasmine swirled
About the house

A jar has
Opened, holding
What’s been held
Inside for seasons

The green still
Grows from
Beneath

And the stairs
Are seasons as
William climbs
Each one

His back bent
Stretching with
Memories of his
Life, his wife

He carries his life
On his back, its
Curvature conforming
To both comfort and
Discomfort

His mind fretting
On the details that
He has kept account
Of in his own way

And dreams cannot
Be kept buried
For long

And he enters
His home and the
Scent of jasmine
Enters his pores

And his eyes
Make their way
To the corner

Eyes that are
Alive with things
That have fermented
Over time

Eyes whose
Sharpness is
Keen to the sun

In the corner it
Sits, brown and
Wrinkled in its
Imperfections

And with moist
Eyes and the
Smell of jasmine
Kicking up all over
Him

William cried
Out

That was
Blanca’s
Chair

(C) 2016 Tony Robles.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s