Thelma

A measure of your loss that you would stand there counting 
the sixteen years you've passed over, a handkerchief 
of sapphires from a beloved who died. 

You've never named him or sung his stories, his presence 
a muted guide to whatever house he built inside to capture sky. 
Only tambourines and tarot cards, gypsy eyes and the grace of fingers 
suited more to earthen nights. To take flight and be sixteen, 
to remember that first blush of lip to thigh. 

Hold onto virtue and the cold it brings alive.

Reviews

[Atlanta Carter]

Wow! I haven't read anything on this site of this quality in ages. It reminds me of a visionary friend who left here a couple of years ago. It evokes fantasy and melancholy at the same time, memory and hope. I love the metaphor, especially the "handkerchief of sapphires." It has an otherworldliness that I find quite attractive. Excellent piece!

[Doug Ordunio]

Like it! And it has a different feel from "J" You have to expand this style into a longer piece...

[mysticgmekeepr]

Like Emily, I too read it several times, looking deeper into the mystery.

[Emily B]

I find myself reading the lines again and again. Looking to learn more about the title character. We seem so intently focused on the beloved that we seem to be looking off into the horizon as if to catch a glimpse of him who left