Vintage
Her name is Marynissen.
Although she,
I suppose,
is not really a she.
Wine bottles can be like that.
She is..
..Was,
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Vintage
Her name is Marynissen.
Although she,
I suppose,
is not really a she.
Wine bottles can be like that.
She is..
..Was,
A Cabernet Merlot.
Although I’m not really sure what that means.
But She knows what that means.
She always knew
what things
like that
meant.
I do remember what She tasted like.
And I remember
How She made me feel.
The wine,
That is.
Mostly I remember the company
that graced our presence,
Me
And Marynissen,
While She was alive.
It’s funny.
In your life
you will face a lot of used packages,
and disposable items,
and empty bottles.
And, most of them,
You will easily
Throw
Away.
Because
you will always assume
There will be many more.
But some,
Are simply,
a finite commodity.
And are limited
By the specific hands,
And hearts
They touch.
The very same
Hands and hearts,
You may never touch
Again.
Our lives
Are led
And run,
By
The Living
And
The Breathing
Pieces in them.
But
Strangely,
It is the
Symbols,
And icons
That resonate the most.
We may not remember Her,
But,
we clearly remember
Her smell,
Her smile,
And Her taste,
Because
of Old Shirts,
Sage words,
And empty wine bottles.
Now,
She simply stares back at me,
Daily,
This Marynissen.
Empty.
Having served her purpose.
I have a feeling,
She,
This Marynissen,
is not like the rest.
She may,
In fact,
be the last
Of the Last.
The unexpected symbol
Of an unsuspected end.
Her meaning,
Spoken loudest,
Now,
In the simple promise
Of what she once held,
And all that existed
Within her,
Before,
When She was full.
When Everything was full
Of Taste,
And Hope,
And Promise,
And Life.
