Glass Coffins

My old attic room, white walls and rock or horror movie posters.

She was asleep in the old upholstered chair, curled and crumpled.

I took her picture with a disposable camera left over from vacation.

 

Her shoulder length chestnut hair fell over her closed eyes, a pallisade.

Her cheeks were soft and warm, a fair face, despite blemishes, redness.

I thought of Sleeping Beauty, glass coffins, soft kisses, things almost outgrown.

 

I put down the little camera, laid down on my bed, and let her sleep awhile.

Sunday Evening, tomorrow back to school, and the desire to escape this world.

The TV at the foot of my bed chirped endlessly, the menu screen to an abandoned game.

 

Cleaning out the room years later, the house empty and about to be sold off.

In a left behind box of curious, I found the picture again, that long ago moment.

With her gone from my life now, but tender feelings remaining, a boring afternoon

 

seems now perfect.

 

 

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