History.

She opened the page and out
flew the dust of a thousand
airs; that familiar old smell
that tickles the nostrils
and warms such eager eyes.

She could already feel
them, watching into her.
The glisten of tears,
the creases of frowns,
the sparkle of smiles.
The gazes of years’ past,
setting her own alight.

The curled corners of pages
plotting moments of silent

pause

Of halted endings and swift
beginnings, of picking up
and leaving off, until that
final page. Where now,
her own gaze still lays.

Waiting

-jl