Earl Edward
by Terri Lynn Cummings



She opens the drawer
removes a handkerchief
embroidered “EE”
traces a finger over a nail clipper
his watch, a souvenir pen
from that time at The Alamo
a wallet, a pocketknife
with an army of blades
folded and tucked away
like memories or sunsets
or marriage. She spreads
the cloth, thin as tissue
and wonders at the weight
drawing her down
like tears falling on their knees
How to understand
the language of silence
where stars appear face down
in the pond and dip their heads
in prayer. All she has –
the naming of things –
lurk like dust on a mirror
until the come and go
of winters and summers
wears a path through despair





Illya's Honey Literary Journal

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