I woke up to a moth kiss. It reeked of shattered glass and tangled flutters.
A first kiss hits the cheek, the nose, but not a moth. It encapsulates me whole.
It eats away at the fabric I hide behind and is finally seen gliding above. Wild but free is a kiss.
Melony (In a deep slumber)
Cheek pressed damply to a pillow, Melony slowly peeled her eyes open staring into the abyss of the moon through the open window. The familiar breeze glided across her cheeks the same way her dream filled her groggy mind.
Many nights she awoke in the same fashion. In the beginning she cried in heaves of hopes and desires of seeing him again. In the present time she simply laid still, numb to fantasies of moth kisses.
Melony slowly got up and rotated her body over the edge of her bed placing her feet firmly into the hardwood floors. Tonight could be different if she finally decided that lingering in "what if's" wasn't enough for her anymore. He passed away one year ago today. The sleeping pills no longer worked and neither did her charismatic personality.
Passing the open window, she reached for a card on her nightstand and stared at it with deep intent.
Grief & Loss Support Group. Tuesday's 7:00 p.m. at HighPoint Church. Refreshments and prayers provided, all are welcome.
Melony's editor had slipped this card in her bag the last time they met up to discuss how she hadn't met her deadline for the new chapters of her prequel. The trilogy Melony wrote had been very successful and it afforded her the opportunity to grieve for a year in her studio. With the inheritance he left her, she could wander the gardens of France in a white sheet of grief forever.
This was probably her downfall because transitioning to a 9-5 everyday might have given her a better drive to work through her messy thoughts sooner.
Holding the card and rotating the edges between her fingers, she carried it to her desk to the far side of the room and pulled out her fountain pen and stationary.
This poem could explain the kiss that overlooked into ocean eyes and waves of unconfined impulse.
The writing worked, but perhaps this support group could help her show how he saved her. She could finally climb a mountain onto a path that he desired for her. That she could finally say his name out loud.
YOU ARE READING
Uneven Edges
PoetryThis imperfect poetry was written in bouts of needs of words. This story follows Melony and her need for poetry to get through some of her hardest truths. The healing that takes from a series of poems that could save her.
