She stands before the painting of the sea,
her eyes begin to close
as she drifts inside herself.
The canvas mirrors that fateful morning—
the day he sailed
to make his fortune.
Their fortune.
She held him close,
committing every detail to memory—
as he wiped the tears from her face
with his kerchief.
That was five years ago.
And the one thing missing
from the seascape
is that despicable ship
sailing into dawn’s first light.
Her family tried distraction,
then reassurance,
until the letter of regrets
never arrived—
and was said to have sunk.
Now they step lightly
when passing by.
The cobwebs on the frame blow gently,
becoming one with the woolen fabric
of the old, tattered gown.
Still, the painting never changes.