The Ritual
By: Yue **** Yitkbel
Friday, July 17, 2015
I gently slit open the front zippers
Of the charcoal stained book bag
And reached in with the precision of a surgeon
Taking out an army green box
The heart of this unrequited tale:

The box squealed a pointless yelp
But, as always, I never responded
And, so I proceed
Taking out the red blue Murano quill

It was never yours, and always mine
But through these regretful years
I always kept it dear
It was the last
Token of our silently syncing heartbeat
Now slowly failing over time
Then, here and there
Alive once again, catching me by surprise.

I touch along its length
Like a dear old friend
Like a familiar and faithful patient
Check his health, wish it well, and
Send him back to his paper home

Like a ritual
I turn it around
And stealthily place it back upside down
For, that is how I remember her
The back of her hair, the back of her coat, the back of her heels
Standing stoically and unmoved
Against the curtain of the Venetian Rain