By Amit Parmessur
The groggy growl of their old outdoor dog
made her peek through the neglected window
only to notice the leaves swirling down,
swirling and twirling down the young yew tree
in the once glorious and green garden.
The leaves swirled down just like the dates
drying up and falling off
the greasy kitchen calendar.
Drinking a serene coffee with a false face
to her innocent children each morning
and looking at his photo each night
could not stop the fall of leaves or dates.
Smoking cigarette after cigarette
Couldn’t burn down her passion for his grey eyes,
for his sweet whispers or red anger.
She still wants those rainy days by the lake with him,
drenched by the open umbrella
discarded on the muddy grass,
looking like an inverted mushroom, capturing the rainwater.
How they would each place a fresh flower
in the cherry umbrella and swear
by the drenched kissing petals
a blissful life in each other’s eyes.
Every rainy moment she still turns the umbrella
into a mushroom to capture his memories and smiles,
but now there are no flowers by the cherished lake
where the groggy old dog growls and growls and growls.
- - -
Aged 28, Amit Parmessur is from Mauritius. He has been published in around 70 magazines since starting to submit his poems late 2010. Dead Snakes, Heavy Hands Ink, Leaf Garden Press and The Houston Literary Review are some of the places where he has appeared. He currently edits The Rainbow Rose at http://therainbowroseezine.blogspot.com/.
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