Who?
Unfolded in her lap
A book, a shrine to the one she had lost,
Edges lovingly fringed,
Each clipping carefully framed.
His voice played roughly, but passionately
In the background,
The humming music of the television.
Carefully, she traced his name
On those newspapers,
Articles read to her many times before,
Now etched dutifully into her memory.
Her champion.
How often had she paid him no notice before?
Let her little prince be snatched away
By whispered nothings,
Promises un-kept?
How had she let him go?
Driven him away?
Her youthful pain, misery,
Drowned in endless mistakes,
Never once turning to him,
Her greatest prize,
Now her only joy,
Long ago lost to her.
Now as she lay there
A shell of her youthful arts,
Too quickly aged,
She reached for him,
Muttering his name softly,
Begging forgiveness
For never seeing what she would lose
Until it was too late.
Her dreams flooded with his presence
Thoughts of what she would tell him,
How proud she was,
How he would accept her embrace.
But her shouts were in vain,
Her own mind slipping,
Clinging obsessively to that one thought,
The image of her child,
Until all else had faded.
Then a man stood before her,
His face cold and stern, but…
No, she had imagined it.
But his expression… so familiar.
His voice matching his face,
But holding in something…
Something more…
"I'm here…"
He muttered softly,
Casual, seemingly uninterested.
She blinked, staring at him in confusion,
The precious image, slowly fading…
"Who?"