PDF

No Wind


by Agnes Ezra Arabella


The candle was near the windowsill.
It smelled like 
the musk my father used to spray 
before he went away
to work.
Oh father, I remember you,
your chocolate brown eyes,
would watch the sunrise
before breakfast;
serious- so serious 
and waiting for something 
that did not come.
I looked out the window towards the amber leaves,
dried and curled on the side like ripped silk
ready for a Winter fade;
when the limbs would be naked again,
yet the branches poured from the trunk like
tributaries flowing into a larger lake and there was no wind, 
or bird in sight,
to lay on the weary limb.
The candle flickered for them.

Endcap