(abstract, image by Prawny, on Pixabay)
I burned them today, your letters to me,
placed them in a pile in the garden
and set them aflame… with one tiny match,
they burned quickly, paper-white to cinder.
Smoke climbed—a sinuous path of grey,
teased by gentle wind, it twisted,
graceful yet mocking, full of acrid charm,
like a cup of unwanted memories.
And when the fire died, I began to cry,
perhaps there were ashes in the breeze.
Maria Justa Polotan is semi-retired music teacher.
Music and writing have been the twin passions of her
life since high school, but she could choose only one
to focus on in college and chose the former. She wrote
very sparingly since graduating, but when the pandemic
and consequent lockdown came, the "work from home schedule" gave her a lot of free time, so she decided
to pick up the pen once more.