Poetry
1 min
Lewisia Andrews
Arden Gifford
A friend I had in Lewisia Andrews
Of all her elegance and temptation
Backed by blankness.
Frown lines deeply impacting her face
Mirroring the folds of her patterned drapes;
Shadows and highlights
I have never seen her in the finites of time.
She seems out of her own without
Comfort in the danger of her past and present.
I still see her in the kitchen standing in the ill white light
She's lightly swaying back and forth holding a glistening spoon
Spacing down into the simmering pot of jam in front of her.
She has the other hand on her hip
On her uncharacteristic and bright
And a thin dress hiding her.
She looks like she should be in the unwelcoming past
With easy music and a heart in her hand,
But she's enraptured by faint bubbling on the stove.
I wasn't the one to find her
Or even properly depart from my knowing her.
She waits for me, and I refuse to visit.
I sometimes thought she never was in my sight,
Beside me understandingly cold -
Lewisia Andrews: the aftermath of a soul.
A Bronco Story. Submissions are from the Western Michigan University community.
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