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Oct 2019
(A portrait of a Lady
brushed across time.
A fragment of life one
afternoon in a poem.)

She drops through your
memory like music from
a farther room.  Her death
is filtered.  Colors
are flowers on the grass.

You are a prism or a vessel.
You come and go.
Time goes into stone.
Pain is a fossil.  It will
be here a billion years.


Caroline Shank
Written several years ago to commemorate the death of a friend's wife.  Published in the Cincinnati Review
Caroline Shank
Written by
Caroline Shank  76/F/Wisconsin
(76/F/Wisconsin)   
60
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