Friday, January 15, 2016

Into the Pensieve, I

Picnics are fun, she thought
as she threw on a shirt and pair of shorts.
She'd have to come back up to brush her teeth and hair,
but she couldn't wait to get downstairs, eat some breakfast, and get ready for the picnic.
The whole family planned to go--
a small trip to the lake 30 minutes away.
They didn't go often and of course,
Mom and Dad had promised.
A picnic.


But at the kitchen table
she saw the forlorn look
of her usually effervescent sister.
Head in hands,
scowl pasted on.
It's raining, her sister said,
and pointed out the window.


The image of her day smashed into a thousand pieces
and hung in the air,
bits so concrete she thought she'd be able to hold them in her hand.
She wanted to brush them away,
tell them to come again another day.
But then, Mom appeared with a picnic basket
and Dad pulled out a blanket.
They set the floor like they would a table.
The sun never arrived that day,
and somehow, it didn't matter.