Eve

By: Cassandra Green

Empty mansion,
Shadow filled hallways,
Echoes that perch in hidden nooks,
Repetitious memories blending together
In the dulled light of dusty mirrors.  

Vanities and perfume,
Bathroom and water,
Sheer curtains, stilled.

Lost in time,
Not in essence.

Holiday ghosts now,
Vacant chairs and elegant centerpieces,
Accompanied by statues and folklore.

Deserted, but not rumor less.

In another era,
the winter storm was not alone.

On the eve of precedence,
Heels rushed down an empty corridor.
A schedule and guests to prepare for,
Anticipation transformed the ballroom.

Snow framed the grounds.
Wind,
Flurries found entrance.

A delicate hand closed an open window,
Snowflakes nestled in curly hair,
Another’s touch,
Melted.

A library and cane,
Study and revelation,
A grand fireplace prepared and stoked.

But where a footprint became a thud,
A knock absently reverberates.
Motive unfound,
Intention forever felt.

Abandoned, but never truly left behind.

Whistling winter,
Unaccompanied by breath.
As if one held their breath,
And simply stopped moving.

A final exhale,
Held by foul play.
A fool’s impulse and a
Beauty’s consequence.