Pressed between the pages
of her book of poetry
she keeps a rose from long ago.
Its delicate red petals,
once soft and smooth,
now crumbled in wax paper
A souvenir of an event she can’t recall.
Was it a birthday? An anniversary?
Perhaps her senior prom?
Like the once vibrant color
of the flower she holds so dear,
her memory has faded with time.
She saves it with the withered flakes,
crushed between the pages
of her favorite book.
© 2016, Lina Rehal. All rights reserved.
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