Decades à Rose
Quivering hands release
rose petal beads
from the deepest pocket
of an abandoned purse.
She traces the Sign:
forehead, heart,
left shoulder, right shoulder;
then gently touches the Crucifix
to her trembling lips.
Clutching each bead, lips pursed,
she whispers the prayers.
Words trickling off her tongue
mingle with questions:
Why? How? Where? When?
Perspiration
awakens the rose scent
by fingers slipping their way
around the chain to the final bead.
She recalls most of that prayer.
“Good enough!”
Beads à rose...
Release
© Jeanne I. Lakatos
***********************
Insouciance (Entry II)
Feeling soucieux,
for the Bus has left without me,
I delve into the furthermost
reaches of a leather universe,
searching for a tissue to dry my tears,
lacking in certain finesse.
Soon, I touch something
soft, limp, fuzzy with appendages!
Ew, what has crawled into my purse?
Gingerly, I lift out the soft, limp,
fuzzy object by one of its appendages.
It stares at me with beady eyes
still, silent, still smiling at me
insouciant as ever, James Joyce.
I rejoice... a friend at last!
© Jeanne I. Lakatos
***********************
Insouciance (Entry II)
Feeling soucieux,
for the Bus has left without me,
I delve into the furthermost
reaches of a leather universe,
searching for a tissue to dry my tears,
lacking in certain finesse.
Soon, I touch something
soft, limp, fuzzy with appendages!
Ew, what has crawled into my purse?
Gingerly, I lift out the soft, limp,
fuzzy object by one of its appendages.
It stares at me with beady eyes
still, silent, still smiling at me
insouciant as ever, James Joyce.
I rejoice... a friend at last!
© Jeanne I. Lakatos
