Still Singing

Pink toenails
Protrude from her flimsy white
Flip flops
That sing "O Susanna"
On a warm summer day.
She tries to lick the
Red Popsicle juice dripping from her
Little hands
The hands that reflect Alexander's
Long and slender piano fingers.
She tugs at my apron
Imprinting tiny cherry marks
On the peach fabric.
I take bits of warm cookie dough
And pop them in her mouth.
Her soft rosy lips brush against
My finger
Her breath is cold.
Cold as the day he walked out
A frigid and white morning
He blanched out every color
In our house
With his paint brush.
Our life, our marriage
Was a blank canvas
Aching for hues to be buttered
All
Over
Its ashen countenance.
He said he was blase
Tired of small town America
Alexander never
Had a life to live him
Never had sweet notes
To sing him
He was just a
Pretty boy blue
Bobbing his silver head
to wedding day blues

Pink toenails
Protrude from her flimsy white
Flip flops
That sings
And
Continues to sing.





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