four incomplete memories.

it was most likely a holiday, as

she stood over the kitchen counter

bending forward to sip a glass of warm

pinkish liquid from a crystal wine glass

her hair was dyed almost black

and had lost its youthful shine

when she inhaled, the ember

of her cigarette shone hot amber,

just enough to force her pale lip gloss

to shimmer for a few seconds

his clothes were normally coated in dust

sometimes he clutched a tattered

comic book and his black finger nails

followed the words

as if he was actually reading them

he taunted the boys behind him

in the padded, torn green seats

until one day the red haired boy

took a swing and knocked his eyeglasses

onto the slippery bus floor

he was lying there, carefully unobtrusive

in a cold, dim room that stank

of urine and bleach

his hands were shaking slightly

the aquamarine colored blood

tenderly protruding through the veil

of transparent skin that was

carefully stretched over his bones

reminded her of

a hotel swimming pool

the weeds and wildflowers

grew above her head

even when she stood on her tip toes,

she could not see the cars that made

the rushing sound out on the road

she held a handful of mayflowers

and sniffed them periodically

with simple pleasure, and

when she returned to the house

she would put them in a glass of water

and leave them on the kitchen table

© 12.4.12 heather brager