By Pamela Evitt-Hill
A shroud over muddy water shields my eyes from bright intrusion. Reminisce in the rain; that dead crow in the driveway. I thought the antiquated card of death meant a new beginning but is more a macabre or a malo animo. Will I see you in my dreams? Shall we kiss farewell a thousand days? Your clothes are in the closet and in the dresser drawers. Your pillow is still crumpled where we entwined in cosmic rays. Your towel in the shower is still damp. An angel from someplace alit and gathered all the treasure and left behind red lips as a kiss to compensate. I hesitate to sleep and wake up once again, to open eyes and comprehend Poe’s slick black nevermore.
Pamela Hill’s fiction and poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Thrush Poetry Journal, Six Minute Magazine, Literary Juice, Ping Pong, An Art & Literary Journal of the Henry Miller Memorial Library, Naturewriting, Nailpolish Stories and Lyrical Pens.