by Martina Rimbaldo
Moonlit casting his pale hands upon her window glass
Infatuated with its layer of dust
Uninvited guest observes from afar
As young maiden fashioned in a flaxen la Ce long gown
Sits on a baroque Chair combing her ash-auburn hair
Breathing heavy summer air
Wall-ticker heralds midnight
Minute after bedchamber victorian looking glass suddenly ruptures in half
Scared to the bones, Maiden jumps off her chair
Wonders how could it occur, something so obscure
Her mother opens the door in a fury
Reads out loud the telegram letter just received
Fragile voice shakes in dolor
Her cousin of only 18 passed away …
Maiden espies the looking glass and glowers, freezing in the unbelief
The mirror crack evanescence …
Martina Rimbaldo is a 29-year-old woman who lives and works in Croatia. She always wears a pen and a notebook in her purse in the case of a sudden inspiration in order to write it down. Her poems are published in Nightingale & Sparrow and her artwork is published at weekly blog of Royal Rose Magazine and Bleached Butterfly, her photographs are published in Anti heroin chic.
