a poem a day

The Vanilla of Regret
She sits in an overstuffed chair once
bright red and now faded
in all the places the sun has baked,
once slick with Scotchguard and
now covered with hair from the dog and
crumbs from lunch. Littering
the table at her side are the phone,
television remote,
and a battered King James
Bible. She likes the New Standard more,
but the KJB looks
so nice with its cracked leather binding
she can't bear to replace
it with the other, in the same way
she still watches the same
television programs, still eats meals
at the same hours in
the same restaurants on the same days,
still says penitent prayers
on knees not quite as limber as they
once were maybe. She keeps
the routine and her memories stuffed
fat with unspoken and
well dressed apology just in case
the door opens on his
return. From youth so fleeting she can
no longer remember
her own unlined face she knows no
truth lies twixt here and there.

©2016 Stephanie Wright