Ava Wahl
It sounds like the name of a woman who was once beautiful.
Yes, even without makeup, she shined.
In her shape and in her voice grew something fertile and
Wild as if the lady herself embodied the word
“Living”.
Tall like an oak, she knew true strength
Lie not in a tree’s bark but in the thin petals of a rose
Almost translucent, delicate,
Whose scent is overpowering.
Now, she lies like a fallen twig
Who stares at the mirror
In search of a bygone era she cannot find.
Greyness cascades down her feeble shoulders,
Cheeks folded into canyons formed through a lifetime
Of smiles, frowns, and kisses.
She has been eroded by love,
Sculpted and carved
By a force so strong it has changed her very shape.
With a fumbling grace, she faintly traces
The silver wedding ring on her finger which she cannot
Bring herself to remove,
And wishes she once again had someone to tell her
You’re still beautiful,
You’re still living
You’re still
Esmeralda.