Ophelia by Odilion Redon

She appears to him everywhere
in frozen snapshots of time.
Freeze frame gestures
capture her stoic form,
thin lips rounded into cherries
ripe enough to pluck.
Her neutral expression
stands unconcerned
her utter disregard for him
hanging beneath the surface
of his mother’s birdbath.
Her black hair, an act at play
against smooth alabaster skin.

He reaches out to touch her cheek
and like the reflection of the fox’s grapes,
she disappears.
He’s left with a handful of water-laden butterfly wings
and an intense desire to encapsulate her.
His perfect other.

Brenda Warren 2012

The photo at The Mag inspired The Sunday Whirl words to form an obsession. I think the narrator is a serial killer, but who knows? Visit The Mag and The Sunday Whirl both for some fabulous Sunday writing. You’ll be glad that you did.