Early Mourning

A faint sliver of orange breaks out

in the sea of infinite black

hanging, over your silent street.

Staggering over cracked, familiar pavement

the scent of whiskey drifts back at you

in the billows of crisp morning air.

Peering up through glazed eyes

the dotted stars’ fade,

the sky pales

as you welcome this fresh dawn

with a grimace.

Fumbling with your keys

you lurch through the front door,

sprawling out

in a salivating heap.

You rise, loosening the black noose

hanging down over crumpled white cotton,

not wanting to meet the loving eyes

staring out from an oversized picture frame.

Falling into a leather embrace

on the sofa,

your eyes swell

as they take in the room,

an armchair in the corner

still creased with her outline,

worn slippers sat obediently

beneath the armrest that holds an ash-tray,

empty.

A shrill chirping

brings your gaze to the window,

out through the bars of the blinds

into a patchwork of red and pink sky.

“Red sky in the morning, shepherds warning”

She would have said.