By Mooky Blaylock

This is the tale
of meeting a soul
Weathered and Tethered
and Shattered

After driving a million miles
from nowhere to somewhere
I found her sitting
Glass in hand
filled to the brim
with wine and tears

A gift and a curse
for those
who knows
what awaits at the end

The Warm Desert night air
was dancing in dim lit light
from the porch of a lost Truck-Stop bar
as bewildered as our personal plight

We shared the ritual
of destroying our lungs
with Winstons and Lucky Strikes
An introduction without the need of spoken tongues

Annette Loveday started to talk
first with pleasantries and questions
Which swiftly turned
to recollections and intersections

Her house was burgled earlier that day
She had nothing of worth
but what they took,
was more than what was taken away

She explained that she traded in second hand books
treasures of literature
Stacked to the roof
of the shack where she paints
her life of adventures
in solitude and sway

Not a single book was touched
"No-one reads in this town" she explained
"They rather took things that won't be worth much.
But it is something to me"she exclaimed constrained

I was captivated and intrigued
And decided to stay
For as tired as I was
This was the most interesting conversation I've had
in an uncountable amount of days

We talked about her running away to travel the African depths

We talked about  painting, paints and the burning passion that can burn within a chest

We talked about her son who lives somewhere in the States.
About how he wants her to relocate,
and fears that the soul could suffocate.
The distance she kept 
has grown over time
in a way that could not be explained

We talked about Art outside of art made to sell.
About creativity versus recipes
the civilized world made to impel.

We talked about books and what they evoke.
Bestsellers stained by the mundane
Where craft alone does not hold creative tone

As sudden as the breeze,

with feeling trembling within her voice,

she told of a partner and lover who left behind

his pale cold corpse late one night,

as his last breath was stolen

Caused by the innocent kiss of a mosquito bite.

Then she quoted Oscar Wilde and said...

"the worst of having a romance of any kind is that it leaves one so unromantic"


We drank our wine with thoughts afloat
Young and Old we sat
The sadness we owned
Made room inside
for  a sudden friendship
our hearts desired

She sketched out a beauty
And gave hope back to the world
Goodness have not yet been lost
It just crawled into a dark place and curled

And in her eyes I too could see
the abounding appreciation to have been seen
And indeed I did that day
Not just any day
But our day
Here is to you, Annette Loveday

The End

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