she put smiles

in the palm of my hand,

curling my fingers

over it.

they weighed

like my

heavy heart,

bringing me

down

to my knees.

her face

held compassion,

and love.

she looked down

at me,

with apology

in her eyes,

as our lives

twisted and turned

into a fading dream.

I wanted to beg:

"Darling? 

I am starving,

for your 

real smiles.

not these,

made of thorns and thistles

not these,

born from weeds and bristles;

please,

spit out the spines

and give me a smile;

let the world 

shine,

in your eyes."

she searched

my silence

intently,

let go of me

gently.

"I am going home,"

her silence spoke.

a breeze shook,

her snow-white ringlets,

buds and blossoms,

softly sighed,

a blue butterfly,

landed, 

on my

cold heavy heart;

its wings

rose and fell;

twin 

clinking of bells.

eyes closing...

breath leaving...

heart stopping...

with a guilty 

twitch 

of her lips,

my grandmother's soul

left the garden.

gone.

the butterfly

on my heart

stilled;

eternity came and went.

at long last,

their limbs perked up,

tasting

the sweetness,

of those smiles 

in my palm,

slowly pumping

nectar,

into my  

cold dead heart...

lub dub. lub dub. lub dub.

_____

©AmaliaAbbar

For PoetsPub BCE, Week 1, 2018