In The Twilight Corner
In the twilight corner dust gathers on the old shelf, where you keep your memories and cloth dolls with empty mouths, that don't hold words or food, but they mouth your name in silence. I sat with you at the yellow kitchen table with the chrome side trim. Drank black tea with evaporated milk that made ghosts swirl in the cup. I never liked tea but would drink it so you could read my fortune in the leaves. Your clementine cookies with glass icing shining in the plate through the kitchen window. I watched the double you in the wall mirror look opposite of outside you, as you set a doll into the twilight corner where your perfumes would catch the air when you opened the door of the shelf. The smell of lavender talc powder, porcelain doll faces, and L'air du Temps reminding me that summer is coming to an end, and I await what your tea leaves tell you, for the coming autumn and winter season.