The Last Winter of 1942

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The train howls

Pouring steam over the years

Sons, daughters and grandchildren crowd her bed

They watch and wait and weep

Her life leaks out

Death creeps in……..

Behind her eyes dances the flowers of more than seventy springs

Her ears echo with the first words of her children

Her feet are stained green from skipping across the freshly cut lawn of her parents house

Her thin crown of grey hair remembers shining honey colored and falling below her shoulders

The train growls diesel as the wheels turn

Between her legs throbs the beautiful agony from her wedding night and the thousands of nights that followed

Her fingers twitch, manipulating a needle and thread

Her voice is an Autumn morning

Her laugh; a Summer thunderstorm

Both are silent now

The name of the man that widowed her brushes over her lips

She tries to say his name now, gulping soundlessly at the air

They all lean in close, like sunflowers yearning for more from the sky

The train whispers into the neon lit station

The doors of the carriage open

And she melts into the night.

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