Photo by Denys Argyriou via Unsplash

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This bruised shadow of a promise

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This bruised shadow
.                                       of a promise.
I made it.         It was meant
.             for her. The woman
without a face. Right
.                          before I left.
Years later, things
.                                        lost
their taste.        Bruises
.             come and go.
They change
.                          colors. So
.            do promises. They are
spoken. Some
.            languish
.                          and sigh
.                                       and fade away.
Others eat
.            everything in sight
until nothing’s left,
.                                       except.
That mouth
.             of a thousand
teeth.                 A promise
.            made to someone
whose face
.                          I’ve forgotten.

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First published in Miracle Monocle, Issue 12, Spring 2019