On a bedstand
a sprig of lavender dries
over a photo of Father
wearing one of his rare smiles.
A curtain of song
darkens a quartet of windows.
Lori’s hair falls past her shoulders.
From another room,
the news describes the violence
of the ignored
refusing to be the ignored any longer.
She whispers a prayer
for the protesters and law enforcement.
The sky reddens.
She fears the phone may ring.
She settles into her bed.
A block of ice.
The lavender scent
flashes images of her very first dog.
copyright © 2020 Kenneth P. Gurney