Honeycomb
by Bibi Hamblin
He will remember it
Through the prism of the honeycomb.
Memories eventually gang up against you,
Ask anybody
Childhood days filled with love, kisses, happy families
He could swear on his life,
His sister’s kiss on his cheek evidence of what he’d forgotten.
Weary from her heavy burden,
The promise, her own fault,
Every single detail
Written down
Kept hidden.
It was only him now,
The graveside,
The single red rose,
It was only him now,
Empty house
Sister and brother bound together,
The stain never completely erased,
The pages of the journals standing as judges.
Father’s got to go away
His mother said one evening,
She’d been crying,
He said nothing,
When Father became a ghost,
He said nothing,
A silent wave,
A smiley lady,
A room full of toys,
His sister spoiling his fun,
She held out a hand
In the end he took it.
A fresh start
Him, his sister, his mother,
All for the best,
New town,
New friends,
New name,
Mother now distant,
Sister now mother.
The ghosts hover,
Head in hands
Too full to take the weight,
He glances at the photograph
He and his sister laughing
Decides to remember,
Through the prism of the honeycomb.
***
Bibi Hamblin is a certified workshop leader in the Amherst Writers and Artists Method. A Londoner, she can be found adding and subtracting words to create short stories, flash fiction and her first novel for children. Her work appears in the Blue Harvest Circle anthology, A Winter’s Romance and with Zeroflash and Visual Verse.
*Photo courtesy of Brian Michael Barbeito*
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