“Saturday Night”

By

Jeffrey G. Grisamore

The brush makes its way through tangled curls
Pulling, stretching, as if the years hadn’t done enough of that already
A cheap painting on the bathroom wall
While makeup - an old friend - says hello again
In its ‘why not’ rainbow of colors, all too bright

A cigarette burns on the counter
The smoke joins the crescendo of anticipation
As she wonders, tiredly, whether tonight will be any different
The cross around her neck
The years around her eyes 

Sum and substance of a life is always breathtaking
Memories from the journey stain us with an ink
Too impossible to remove
But somehow we find the will to continue
Because if it’s not around the bend, it will surely be around the next

She thinks as she puts on her stockings and slips into forlorn shoes
The potential, the possibility, the hope
She walks to the mirror first – and then towards the door
She puts on her coat - then stops - and turns the knob
As a tear moistens her clear blue eyes