Wednesday, February 04, 2009
 | She sifts thru the yard sale table of discarded whatnots and doodads, her fingers searching intuitively. They linger and finally settle on a tiny blue bottle amidst the clutter. She lifts it and peers at the sun thru its silver chased glass, covering her hand in the impossible cobalt light of a Chagall window. She finds the beauty of it hopeless to resist. The little bottle now riding in her pocket, carefully wrapped in a tissue, is not unknown to her although she has not seen one as artfully made as this in three hundred years. The crude glass of those is nothing compared to this tiny jewel. She remembers placing them in countless tombs with her beloveds over the millennia. And so she will again. Although this beloved wills no tomb, no earthly reminder of his passing. Nevertheless, she will collect the tears she sheds for this love just as she has every other, stoppering them into this tiny bottle, her offering to mortal love. And when she is done, she will weep no more and move on. |
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