The tick, tick, ticking clock resounds off the walls of the tiny room, reminding her each second she is alone. It’s always the same, she awakens, moves to the window and sits. Waiting.
She knows in her heart he will never return but this is all she can do, for when he left, he took the sun and the moon and the stars with him. There is no light in her eyes, save that which slinks in through the iron bars of her portal to the outside world. This is all that remains for her now; her unmade bed, the chair in which she sits, and a scarred table with a dwindling candle as its sole adornment. This is her penance, here where broken shards of light dance with tormented memories of him.
She wishes she could go back, change the outcome, but there is no changing the past. And when at last evening shadows deepen, and the world outside says goodnight, she pours the wine, lights the candle and speaks, reciting her poetry to the empty room.
©2018 Linda Lee Lyberg
Willow Poetry: What Do You See? 10/16/2018