Caramel colors glint in the sweating glass
That waits, hidden, behind the pumpkin-
shaped
Cookie jar; still dark, but morning comes
upon us fast,
Gray and mysterious, louche figures
lighting the trees, draped
Over branches and curled like cats in the
bushes' dark undersides.
Behind the yellow gingham curtains, a
cherry-red lamp burns,
Casting its warming smile over
generations of memories that hide--
Barely out of sight--each patiently
waiting, fluttering out in turn.
Smoke rises in plaits from the cigarette
she holds,
Affecting what she once imagined an
elegant stance,
Palm turned upward near her chin, her
elbow folds
Neatly against her side. Yawning,
entering, I catch the merest glance
Of shadows in her eyes, before she
turns, beaming, to kiss me, and to say,
"Good morning, Morning Glory," coffee
pot in hand, her ghosts now safely
locked away.
(c) 2014, by Hannah Six
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