Day Three mini contest

I was rushed, out all day, excuses, excuses...

Rose

So sweet and gentle when she blushes
that all the flowers
are but crass pretenders
stealing her name.

Brigits Flame mini contest day 4, Blue

Blue, Blue Christmas

This blue of snow reflecting sky is

Me

reflected in your eyes.

There, once, I saw only wonder,

Pools of light I plunged into

head first and drank the best of love

and the best of you.

And now

In your eyes darting here and there

Impatient with the desire

to be out of here,

I see a woman, old and grey

And the man she loved, long gone and far away.

             “I have unpacked the car.”

“Fine.” He didn’t look up from the paper. He turned the page noisily. He believed her stating the obvious was in fact a call for him to get up and help her.   He wasn’t falling for it.  She could bloody well ask him for help if she wanted it.

“It’s very bright but don’t let it fool you, its cold!”

“Hrrumph” was his response.

“What? Oh well, I’m just telling you, if you’re thinking of walking down to the lake with the dog dress warm.” She shook her head as she took another can out of the shopping bag. He barely listens. He’s like a rebellious teenager, only with bad knees and a bad back and no libido.

“I took the dog already! It wasn’t that cold.”

She came and stood in front of him, or in front the paper he held in front of himself. “You were asleep in bed when I left. When did you have time to go for a walk to the lake? You must have gone out in your pajamas!”

“I wasn’t in my pajamas and I wasn’t asleep.  I was waiting for you to leave.”

“For heaven’s sake why?”

“What difference does it make!”

“Well none I suppose, but, honestly…” She returned to the kitchen and continued putting things away.

The sun, shining far to the south cast long shadows across the snow. The sky was a deep blue and the snow was like a mirror reflecting it. Driving home from shopping she felt a deep melancholy and she wished she could have drawn something out of him to open up the vast and endless landscape of sadness that she felt she had become.

She wondered if she could just shut up as tight as he could, instead of this constant monologue of inane chit chat, if they might slowly drift past this paralysis. She knew she could not. She knew he would go on, wishing he were somewhere else but not knowing where, or with whom.

This is what haunting a house must be like when you are dead. She thought. The days leading up to Christmas had somehow past and now she was sitting across from him. It was Boxing Day.  They were eating leftover turkey from the dinner the night before at their son’s house.

“I don’t remember the holiday.  What do you think of that? Did you have a nice Christmas?” She asked him as he sat absorbed in eating his leftover Christmas dinner.

“What? Yeah, it was nice. That Kathy is a good cook. Better than you; that’s why she took it over.”

“Do you think they are happy? They seem happy.”

“Why are you asking me that? How should I know? They’re doing alright.”

“Well, are you happy, with me? Could you look at me, for just this once, when I talk to you?”

                “Of course I’m happy. Why do you badger me all the time? I’m not your child!” and with that he got from the table and whistled for the dog. “I’m going for a walk.”

She was about to say, “THIS LATE?” but she stopped herself and instead poured herself another glass of wine. I remember how your coat held the cold. I could feel it coming off you as you kissed me. You were in such a hurry to kiss me you didn’t even take it off. It was Christmas Eve, a long time ago.