Poetry by Ann Christine Tabaka
Dust motes dance on sunlight
streaming through a dingy window.
Rusty mailbox, empty, always empty.
Cadaverous cobwebs mocking
back at him from a peeling wall.
He sits alone in his room, sifting
through dim memories of a once
vibrant life. His wife is gone, adult
children too busy to visit, friends
moved far away. Yet in his hands,
he holds proof, that his life was once
real. Photos and newspaper clippings
fill his world. Universities, Naval ships,
careers and family, all a distant past.
He hungers now, not for food, but for
human touch. As memories fade, so
does he. Closing his eyes, he drifts
off into that other world. As the mail
truck drives by, not stopping, and dust
motes continue their last ballet.
About the Poet
Ann Christine Tabaka was nominated for the 2017 Pushcart Prize in Poetry, has been internationally published, and won poetry awards from numerous publications. She lives in Delaware, USA. She loves gardening and cooking. Chris lives with her husband and two cats. Her most recent credits are: Ethos Literary Journal, North of Oxford, Pomona Valley Review, Page & Spine, West Texas Literary Review, The Hungry Chimera, Sheila-Na-Gig, Synchronized Chaos, Pangolin Review, Foliate Oak Review, Better Than Starbucks!, The Write Launch, The Stray Branch, The McKinley Review, Fourth & Sycamore
Vita Brevis Press. 
A very touching and poignant poem, with a moving finale
“truck drives by, not stopping, and dust
motes continue their last ballet.”
I could barely continue reading this poem, it was so heartwrenching. What a powerful ending, too. And that last word, ballet? Amazing word choice. Maybe this poem touches me so much because it’s so close to home. I feel as if you’ve gazed into my life. Thank you for writing this beautiful poem, Ann.