Audrey Ashira

Annette Lane


Once upon a time,

The forest rushed past her eyes.
Everything is always slipping past us.
An Irish melody.
She picked up her pen again.

a girl fell in love


with a dream.


 Eyes are the windows to the soul.

She saw his eyes in a Polaroid in the pages of a book of poetry she found in a antique shop.
They were on fire with spirit.
They practically burned holes in the image.

The voice in your eyes is deeper than all the roses.


His soul was on fire.


She had heard about her from the women in the shop. Whispering amongst themselves.

Always whispering.

They said she’d gone crazy. Said she was auctioning the house off – starting the bidding at one dollar.

They were insinuating.

Always insinuating.

They said she drove her son away. Said she drove her husband to his death. Maybe poisoned him. She’d tricked the poor man into marrying her and driven him to his death.

Their son was strange – always driving out at night, always writing in that notebook of his – strange poetry. And then he ran away.
No one’s heard from him since….

Their chatter ended abruptly when she brought the book to the counter. Paid for it.

The lady handed her the book and the receipt to sign.
She signed it: Audrey Micheals




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