the window

i had a friend…intensely dear…who would wax poetic about the aftertaste of mocha, latte, and anything amaretto. she did not like coffee, she would proclaim, but the taste was a mnemonic link with her past. so she drank it, gulped it. like a never-ending rosary, she recited the line that it was necessary…

there were lines in her face. the ones that never left. the ones the foundation tried to hide. the ones that forced their way through a smile. she could not hide from them. for they were her history.

but i saw love in those lines. i saw gentleness. i saw a passion for life. not the fading years. not the fading promise…

in the stillness, i like to sit at my red and white checkered tablecloth, the candles lit, the flames flickering against reflecting panes, and remember those lines…the ones i said, the ones she said. they were not captured in the wind, nor written in a thousand poems, nor remembered on the five hundred miles home. but somewhere they are etched on a window beyond this place, beyond this time...


About thelostkerryman

Thelostkerryman is an author, and entrepreneur, living in the forests of a consistently confused country. Here in this hill country, hurling doesn't usually involve a hurley; store-made soda bread has the consistency of a sea sponge; and Kerrygold butter has finally found a permanent place on the grocery shelves everywhere. His blogs are an account of his adventures, thoughts, eclectic -and eccentric- ramblings, random or insightful poetry, humor and non-humor, pictures (photos), video, essays, fiction, poetic fiction, nonfiction, drama, and writing he has not classified in the description above. All of his posts from,,, and are copywrited according to international copywrite law.
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