Midnight’s End

A small crimson velvet pouch

With jewelry from his mother

His only connection to her

He opens it slowly,carefully, apprehensively

His heart pounding inside his chest

Drops of sweat dotting his upper lip

The silent ghost now attempting to speak:

An oval, Art Deco gold locket,

An amethyst ring,

A silver key

His stubby,clumsy fingers stumbling to open the locket

The tiny door to the past flies open

Cradling a curly lock the color of midnight’s end

Holds it to his nose and closes his eyes

Trying to breathe in her spirit

Puts it back in its cradle with utmost care

So as not to disturb the ghost in the grave

 

Picks up the amethyst ring

Reads the inscription: “Para mi esposa preciosa”

He knows his mother’s language; not the author behind the words

A tear trickles down his left cheek; mixing with nervous sweat