girl at a half door
fiction
edward w pritchard
In a garden
at a window
a girl at a half door
handed me an apple
deliciously lusious
part pear, part apple, part peach
to be savored over and over
later in a dream
it came out she wasn't an original Rembrandt
merely attributed to the studio of the artist's assistants
succulent never the less, the girl never changes
while myself like Rembrandt in self portrait
grew older and older
blemished of skin, wrinkled off face
struggling to maintain a little dignity in the old sad eyes
among-st allegations of fraud
so, so long ago that garden of my dreams
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