A Geologist’s Study

Orla Pelka

The wind whistles through the shattered windows

Their glass lays on the floor, The room is disheveled and messy

Like a dust storm had swept through

Forcing someone to leave in a rush, A coffee cup knocked over half-empty

Its contents spilled on an old yellowed book Staining its pages, blurring the words, A pair of hiking boots

Their creases and folds worn down from many adventures Rest in the corner, A flashlight still on, lies next to a crystal

Its beam illuminating the sharp edges of the sharp crystal form, On a desk stands a photo of two young girls

Next to it lies a half-eaten orange, the juice leaving a sticky residue on the wood

All left behind in a rush forgotten.

The Black Crow