Mustard.
My silk dress.
My mother’s voice
tickles my memory.
You should have changed.
I’m a crack in the sidewalk
noticed for the wrong reasons
avoided at the cost—
of ruining something beautiful.
Tackle the stain before it sets.
Blot out your mistake before
it seeps into the delicate fabric
of what you’re remembered for.
My fingers tremble at the task.
My cautious smear paints
the blue poppies in pollen,
penetrating their petals,
heavy with the weight
of living.
—from Ekphrastic Challenge
September 2022, Editor’s Choice
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Comment from the editor, Megan O’Reilly: