The Invitation
I received an invitation
Golden cursive letters
On white paper
Tied with a butterfly knot
With a silver ribbon
‘You are Invited,’ it said,
‘To our celebration of joy’
I looked through the mirror
Standing in front of me
I was inside it, in my sitting position
My hands rested on my lap
And my eyes, looking at
The tired skin beneath them
And the wrinkles on the cheeks
But then I decided.
My new red shirt, the pencil skirt,
and then the wool scarf to match them
A pair of black loafers and a long black coat
Both ages old, to finish the look.
Yes!
I walked down the street to its corner
To a small gift shop
With all I could afford to spend
A fifteen pounds and ninety-nine pence
A bouquet of white tulips
And a card to wish them well
Was the gift I had selected in my head.
I stood before a wooden door
On the icy flight of stairs
I looked down at my shoes
My feet inside of them were cold
So were my hands holding the gift
But my heart was beating warm
So were my cheeks
I pressed the round doorbell
Twice! ‘Ding-dong,’ it echoed inside.
The door opened,
I gave my invitation,
They shared a stern look
As I took my first step
The door was slammed at me.
| M.M Andrews
