Memoir

These letters of remembrance…

heart and mind

folding...

are an ancient manuscript 

sealed with blood…

crimson ribbons of time woven through my marrow.

And each word a wingless fallen feather...

Tangled up in

heather…lavender…baby’s breath...

Once caged…now nestled in my book of practical magic.

These childhood memories, 

ragged…

creased…

faded black and white 

skeletons,

gathering flesh,

awaiting resurrection,

are guarded by a Rose

 that blooms…

blushing…

 in the shadows.

I write my letters

and 

it is always...

 Night.