Bubbles for Anna

Bubbles for Anna

By Rey Spadoni

A pinkish weave for happier times and not of her choosing

Draped across aged seeming knees and for reasons unwanted

Wheeling forward not of her making, stopping for him to

Steal a smoke away from attentive disdain

She noticed a once breeze now draft and hunting for whispered forms

A child pursing lips and hissing into a round wet wand

Prancing and glistened they, lifted by breezes or drafts in places Anna would once go

But for pinkish weaves and grave news forwarded by stiff voices, tapping pencils

In the respite she thought of dreams now descended beyond her reach or dashed

Of children, slate wooden floors in kitchens and daisy bouquet arrangements

Of pennies into fountains of romance and fancy, croissants and cafes

Then pension and grandchild, descending slowly never dashed

But white tiles and chrome fixtures, fluorescent sun bathing

Hours to days to more into ceaseless pauses, but ending approaching

For this battle they called it, stay strong you can do it

But words can’t supplant what once occupied her dreaming

Then one remaining still underneath, unseen

A memory of what she had thought it could be

One remaining, still

Undashed, and not quite yet done

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