Hiromi Who Sits On My Wall

Her name is Hiromi.

She sits on our wall.

Her back facing out

Her hair in a bun.

With only part of her face

Visible against bleak grey

And peaking out

A striped orange jersey

From underneath a wrinkled black coat.

She's secretly a princess

Decked out in oils,

And framed in black

She reins over our living room

Apposed by none.

The origin of her status

Is a mysterious one.

The product of her creator's mind.

Her form is a familiar one.

I see it everyday.

When I leave in the morning

And when I return in the eve.

But still, she's unknown

A figure with nothing

Only a name and rank.

That is until we met.

Making her no longer just a still life

Hanging from a wall.

She is a person after all.

A student of art.

Who I see,

When I look through her on the wall

Conserving the past.

With a careful hand,

Touching up works of artists,

Of unknowns, and gazing

At faces of long gone souls.

This person who hangs on my wall

Will soon take her leave,

Back to her home

In the Far East.

And all that shall remain

In this country

Of the princess

Is Hiromi,

Who sits on my wall.