Shades of Her Shadow

We discovered too late
that her cancer was too close —

a mere adventitial layer away
from the pulsatility of her pulmonary artery.

Of all the bloody scenes
from that sad, sad Monday,

my closest, clearest memory
is of her makeup,

powder blue painted below
the perfection of her brows.

Shades of her shadow
forever color that crucible,

its pigment poured out —
admixed along with the feeble offerings

of our souls, we who were unsuccessful
in each successive attempt

to save her. Like the eyes from Gatsby,
she watches over the valley of my ashes.

The views expressed are solely those of the author and do not reflect the official policy or position of the US Army, US Navy, US Air Force, the Department of Defense, or the US Government.