Black pen – angular and bleak,
Charcoal – round with bug eyes,
A green smeared countenance of blue and yellow,
Speckled features, dots up close but
Full and lovely from afar.
She’s offered stories of her adventures
Frames by the hills of Austria with WWII in the background,
Hotel desks and an American with kind eyes,
Realities that we couldn’t face, yet.
She’s pontificated on theories yet
To be proven but poetic all the same –
The moon is just a reflection of ourselves.
The silver and craters are only what
We want to see, no light traveling back and forth.
She provided a smile, always
Empathy for loss and listening with only a nod,
Her eyes eventually looking down to the table,
A slight shiver with certain thoughts.
Most recently, she gave me a picture –
It lays flat on top of the rest, on my office desk –
Her in a pink, Jackie dress – beautiful smile and
Eyes looking down at the table as her Royce
Signs their marriage certificate, starting their life
Away from the hills of Austria.