Burnt Curry

She sits, head down, in a square of light
The candles are nothing more than red waxy pools on the floor
As ruffled white curtains are left to shield her from reality.
A halo of burnt hair and an open mouthed profile help me think back to the last time I saw you.
As a light breeze flows in smelling of water and leaves,
I flicker the light switch, only to find the bulbs gone.
And I can't help but wonder why your thunderstorm never stopped my parade.

For Jamie, one of the latest on the list of the death toll.