May 22, 2025What the Pages Know
The path was never paved.
She found it by accident
or memory
or whatever it is that calls you
back to something unfinished.
They hung in the air like birds
or verdicts.
Some fluttered when she passed.
Others turned their backs
and refused to fall.
She thought at first they were poems.
Bright, fragile,
alive with the trick of language.
But closer,
they were older than words.
A red one bore her grandmother’s voice,
tucked into the shape of a bedtime song.
A blue one flashed the hour
she forgot how to pray.
There was the pink she almost wore
to the wedding that never happened.
And one that smelled like
the night she left.
She tried to gather them
but they dissolved when held,
like stories told too often
or people too long gone.
She looked up
and saw more coming.
Pages. Birds. Ghosts.
Who could say.
The clearing ahead shimmered,
not with light
but with possibility.
She didn’t walk faster.
She didn’t turn back.
She simply kept going
until she, too,
was part of the air.

from Ekphrastic Challange