THE GIFT (August Postcard Poem 2017)

Late at night,

he retreats to the basement,

empties his pockets

of tiny glass spheres.

 

Upstairs,

his wife and daughter

unravel their dreams,

weave them together,

discarding the disease.

 

He works all night,

stringing globes into balance,

flicking them at random

just to hear the sound.

 

He is creating his wife

a windchime,

forged of their daughter’s laughter

so the night breeze can serenade her

when the dreams start to fade.

 

Copyright 2017

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