Ruffles & Empty Chalkboards

The ruffles at her wrist

trigger a cascade of crawling

itches up her arm.

She scratches her wrist,

carefully balancing her cigarette

between her delicate fingers.

That life.

The only life she feels.

Her eyes are emptied chalkboards-

covered in dust.

 

The clink, the clank

of the dishes and silverware song;

sorry tales, haughty cries-

none shatter the

joining of her hand

and cheek.

Her untouched hand guards her cheek,

hoping for an absolution.

 

The untouched hand,

the unshared ice cream,

with only one spoon;

waiting to be caressed;

waiting to be indulged;

waiting to be cared for- to be answered;

sits upon the sticky booth where her

pink ruffles alone occupy.

 

Perhaps the orange locks

frightened away that life.

Or the black hat she wore to conceal them.

The emptiness of his ghostly touch,

the absence of life,

sends another itch past her ruffles.

Puffs of smoke escape from

her chapped lips,

covered in day old lipstick,

masking the evanescent aroma

of his imaginary skin.

Un-cried tears bask in solitude within her

chalkboard eyes- waiting.

Reviews

[Gaurav]

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