★ ★ ★ ★


The Imprint of Her Thoughts

On the sixth story, midway up a blank-walled apartment complex
Painted in dull brown, a sky-blue sheet billows in a breeze
That doesn’t touch the trees below, still clinging to late autumn leaves.

A face appears in the window, shielded behind tinted glass to peer
Out at the buildings beyond, an old woman’s face ghosting on the pane
Coated in light blue from the billowing sheet beneath her.

She looks down at the sidewalk where a group of children play
Supervised by grandmothers wrapping themselves up in arms
And thick coats. There is a longing, haunted look in her eyes.

A silver aura frames her, strands cascading down her cheek like tears
She brushes them away and lifts her chin to fold upon the sky once more
Seeking places beyond the reach of her gaze, deep roots in parched earth.

When she has seen enough her forehead lights upon the pane
Great sighs erupt from her small form, strong enough to send the sheets
Billowing; she is the wind, the portent of a coming storm.

Lightning flares unseen, thunder beats heavy drums between
Her shoulder blades, without moving she is buffeted through memory.
She braces herself on endurance crafted through time by necessity.

She is woman, strength bound onto the timbers of her bones
Riding out the storm, allowing it to pass. She draws back,
The imprint of her thoughts left to slowly vanish on the pane.

Craig McGeady currently lives with his wife and two daughters in Xuzhou, China. He is a teacher at the China University of Mining and Technology (CUMT). His writing runs the gamut of length and form, all thanks to a home room teacher with a penchant for Michael Moorcock.

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