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Evening of the day

Sitting alone by her window, somewhere
in that extra shaft of apricot sunlight –
just days after the winter solstice
against a cold pink-streaked sky she
thinks she sees the child I was running
towards her.
Frail arms that reach out to catch me,
hold me, hug me collapse
empty against her chest in a
 hollow thud. The last lonely leaf
of an old peach taps and raps frantically
at the window – wakes her from her dream
before spiraling down leaving
mother tree bereft – bare.
 
The yard is empty. The sun sinks.
Dark descends. The child is
long gone.

View this poem on The Disappearing »

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