Parasol

Like every day, I watch her from afar.

Her last days of freedom, she walks along the cliffs and stares at the waves in the distance. 

Gone are her colourful past gowns,

But luckily, I cannot lose her among the waves; the red parasol draws me in like a beacon.  

Her sister alongside her, 

A guard with invisible knives pressed to her back. 

I watch her resume her walk after a moment’s pause,

Her figure fading between the cerulean skies and waves,

They draw her remaining colours in, 

Making her fade as the boats on the world’s edge.

Today her parasol flies away, 

My only hope to keep track of her,

As her sister grabs her arm to pull her from the cliffside,

It is in that moment she is lost forever,

But to my memory.

I will always remember the girl from Pourville,

And I will spend eternity looking for her,

Hoping for a crumb of pigment to return,

Telling me,

I am here,

I haven’t been taken away.