Reflections.

Cancerous swirls envelop her,
Loss of technicolour, nothing on the horizon.
In the distance, the strains of a lute are heard,
Shadows of raindrops on her face, as they trickle down the window-pane.
She stares at her reflection.

An early morning ritual, sacred to him,
Walking out the door, bucket of water in hand.
Smiles as he goes through the Sunday morning motions,
A clean, shiny car- as good as new.
He stares at his reflection.

A spritz here, a flick there,
All the final touch-ups completed.
A sniff, a snort of the pure white stuff,
She’s ready to walk that road.
She stares at her reflection.

She squeals with joy, and chuckles with glee,
Splashes around a bit, just to irk Mommy.
The little rubber ducky bobs in its turbulent sea and a soap bubble escapes,
She is full of wide-eyed wonder,
She stares at her reflection.

Downcast, full of guilt,
Unable to look at her and confess.
Looking at the ring on her finger, an errant, telling tear rolls down his cheek.
She lifts his head and looks in his eyes.
He stares at his reflection.

A glint of steel, a flash of light makes it all so clear to her,
What had to be, what ought to have.
Mistakes of long ago, haunting her still,
She feels at peace as she grips the knife tight.
She stares at her reflection.

~ by cranialrumblings on July 26, 2009.