THE SHADOW - OF PAIN

onion, apricot, adagio, a face turned to the light
so the shadows fall like sighs against the
cracked pavement
candles, chocolate, fingers placing spoons against
rose colored napkins in the shade of an oak tree

such things can be
for beauty’s sake alone

water
still through the rainbows of cut crystal
harp strings
fog settling into the bottom of the valley

I try to remember
Each piece that isn’t pain
Each piece whose average, unexceptional perfection
Might spell salvation

Pink satin slippers
A rosewood pen
The thick wool of a well made hat
Blood on my fingers the color of

Rain

©Edwina Peterson Cross