Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
TerryCollettPoems
Sara played the Chopin, her fingers moved in a steady pace. Maggie was in the kitchen preparing lunch, thinking of Edward, hoping he will get the tickets for the Verdi. Sara's fingers trickled softly over the keyboard. Her mother sat in the chair, although not really, she was dead, but Sara saw her there. David was coming that evening to make a foursome with Maggie and Edward to see some Italian opera. Sara paused playing, and turning saw her mother disappear, leaving an empty chair, as if she'd not been there. Maggie listened to the silence; the piano playing had stopped; she felt ill at ease, she waited, the soup and bread prepared. Sara began the Chopin again. Maggie smiled, all was well. She took the soup and bread into the room for both to eat; the Chopin trickled to a gentle cease, but Sara's eyes revealed no peace.
0
Jun 5, 2019
Jun 5, 2019 at 3:00 PM UTC
One Lunch Time 1922.
Sara played the Chopin, her fingers moved in a steady pace. Maggie was in the kitchen preparing lunch, thinking of Edward, hoping he will get the tickets for the Verdi. Sara's fingers trickled softly over the keyboard. Her mother sat in the chair, although not really, she was dead, but Sara saw her there. David was coming that evening to make a foursome with Maggie and Edward to see some Italian opera. Sara paused playing, and turning saw her mother disappear, leaving an empty chair, as if she'd not been there. Maggie listened to the silence; the piano playing had stopped; she felt ill at ease, she waited, the soup and bread prepared. Sara began the Chopin again. Maggie smiled, all was well. She took the soup and bread into the room for both to eat; the Chopin trickled to a gentle cease, but Sara's eyes revealed no peace.
Two sisters in London in 1922
TerryCollett
Written by
TerryCollett
78/M
Jun 5, 2019
Jun 5, 2019 at 3:00 PM UTC
Request permission to use this poem