Remnant

Two lovers stop to kiss in a cemetery and then move on.

But Anne remains.

She thinks about the dock in Greenwich. Eating her sandwich in a showdown with an irregular pigeon. He hobbles towards her, wildly eye-ing lunch. And then she walks a bit and takes a picture of the garbage washed up on the water's edge. It begins to rain, and she buys an umbrella she will later lose in New York.

Anne remains.

* * *

Anne leant over a table of photographs.

Simply framed in gold was Patricia as the gamine. She wore all black, a gaudy broach pinned to her left shoulder. Laughing, she tossed her curls behind her and held her cigarette twixt her fingers like air. The burgundy smile spread from cheek to cheek with elvish curiosity. Patricia's skin was young, white, and bathed in light.

Anne had little thought of Patrica being happy. But there it was.

* * *

Now it is Anne who is young, elvish, and laughing. It is Anne who pins things here or there or decides to put on a ring. Who picks out Patrica's shoes for her little stockinged feet and tosses her curls.

And Anne who contemplates a ladybug crawling down a window, or watches two lovers kiss in a cemetery and move on.