Dressed in Black


She steps up to a wooden door,
opens it a crack.
Comes in from the autumn cold.
She is Dressed in Black.

She walks into a little room,
hidden in the back.
Settles in the dimming light.
She is Dressed in Black.

She takes a yellow envelope,
holds it to the light.
Reads a faded manuscript
deep into the night.
She lights another cigarette,
walks across the room.
Better make a fresh beginning
somewhere sometime soon.
She measures up the sacrifice,
the price of looking back.
One life, one decision.
She is Dressed in Black.

She stares at an old calendar.
It’s harder to keep track.
Another day on planet earth.
She is Dressed in Black.




Author: eric@ericschuurman.com

Father, mechanical drafter, musician.