Blue eyes that held a hint of almost glazed,
yet bright, intensely luminous. He was called
a drunk these days. He'd hang around
the railroad yard, looking near and far to find
an image of the sister that he'd left behind
so very long ago.

Fading gray, his hair was messed. The clothes
he wore were never really clean. But at his age,
the stares of a few ninnies didn't mean
much of a thing to him. Silver-blue.
Her eyes were silver-blue. He never
would forget that day, so long ago,
when he was spirited away. Bootlegging,
so his father said, required him to go.

They traveled north, where cold winds blew,
and people seemed to blend into the view.
Not friendly like the down-home warmth
of the southern atmosphere where he was born.
Somehow it didn't matter much to him
that he'd left behind his father's wife.
She'd railed so at all that's male, that
both of them found sweet relief
within that letting go.

But his sister, no - that was another matter.
Beautiful and simple, sweet. Blonde hair that
glistened in the sun like ever growing wheat.
A smile from her could cure the countless
maladies they felt. One look into her eyes
and all the commonplace would simply
melt away. It never seemed to stop, his
endless reaching out for her. Visions played
anew in endless moments of that day
he'd had to go away from her for good.

Not long before he died, he spied her -
image so complete. Standing, waiting for
a train, his life became replete in more than
just forgiveness. A little older, never very much.
A gentle touch of golden light within that
fine-spun hair. It mesmerized the innocent
and wise, the way she was. There was
a glow about her, subtly enhanced, like
sun on moon. And those eyes, oh God,
those eyes. So long he'd waited just to gaze
in them again.

He approached her, never finding out her name.
It never was a game between the two of them.
He told her who he thought she was, and even
as she gently came to tell him he was wrong,
a song of heaven started in, just echoing
within his inner ear. That night, within his sleep,
he just passed over. Hand in hers, she led him
to the light. Love so pure, so sure, and ever
growing - this was the gift she gave to him
that night...

? Michaelette ?

Copyright© 2002 Michaelette L. Romano
All Rights Reserved
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