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Painted Roses

Somebody mentions your lemonade scones. I search the drawers and find the grey folder. The recipe, in your handwriting on yellowed paper. I picture the kitchen of your old house, see the floured bench, feel the warmth of the wood-fired stove. Your cheeks are flushed as you roll dough and shape it on the tray for the oven. I taste the tang of homemade blackberry jam spread beneath a pile of whipped cream. Your smile gentle as you pour from the floral china teapot. And I lose you all over again.

dust motes
whirl in a shaft of light
your eyes
forget me not blue
pressed behind glass

About the Author

Gavin Austin

Gavin Austin lives in Sydney, Australia. Gavin writes short fiction, short plays, and poetry. His work has appeared in many Australian and international publications.


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