It's Still Life

Jane’s Ashes

That afternoon became
the entire day; that’s the way
of memories — morning’s chorus
of seagulls wheeling updrafts
migrating across county lines,
barren hedges and low light
of off-shore storms —
all forgotten.
We only remember
weeping hearts, and releasing
pink balloons in her memory.

written for dVerse’s Quadrille #29 44 words “Balloons”