Not Tranquility

Fading. A matter of time.
Deep consideration for those
left behind. The choice, quiet and clean.
Always leave a lasting impression.
Hidden exhaustion; tired of trying, of
wanting, of waiting for a question
that would never arrive. Now questions
unanswered; final thoughts never
to be known. Expectations claw
dangerously at the soul until
little remains. One-sided memories
redolent in cologne-scented images:
his smile, his habits, his voice, his lips
and the deceit that spewed from them.
Lips that had, once, served her well.
She could still feel tingles by herself,
gasping at the thought of a touch.
An indulgent afternoon. Shopping,
hair and manicure. Elegance. New shoes,
matching clutch. A pretty dress. Dinner
at La Maquette, two bottles of Chablis,
then Tiramisu, a final treat. Credit card.
Big tip for a waiter who fawned over her,
as always. Acknowledged. Appreciated.
Dining alone tonight?
Now home. Solitude, not tranquility.
A sumptuous life, mostly, as she chose
to remember. Gently slipping into
somnolence. Her own comfort, finally.
Fresh bed linens, fragrance, fine lingerie,
a favourite lipstick unmistakably marking
the edge of another glass of wine.
Glamourous, yes, she would
leave behind a beautiful corpse.

©2017 j.g. lewis

Poem Kubili is an international
companionship of poets with
a common love of writing and
reading poetry. To
of the group’s collected works

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