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.