Her breath, short sharp gasps
that cloud briefly
before dissipating;
invisibly blending
into the surroundings.
Glimpsed,
noticed for a second
and then forgotten
forever.
The city, her home!
No doors
only doorways.
No welcome mats,
only the façades
that fate has unambiguously
denied entry too.
Boundaries
clearly drawn!
Across Trafalgar
she trundles
perambulated
possessions.
Her flat mates
deftly dodge the
wheels of her carriage,
‘cooing’ acknowledgement;
not welcome!
She observes them;
envies them
but begrudges them not.
One day
she too will fly,
when powers
beyond her comprehension,
decide she also has earned
her wings.
Comments
Jupiter | June 24, 2009 - 18:33
I think it's very good Chris but desperately sad too!
I particularly enjoyed her perambulated
possessions and the idea of her flat mates, unfortunately no longer there to keep her company since Ken Livingstone decided to have them moved on!
sarah wilson | June 24, 2009 - 20:14
I didn't see this before the clean up but I think it's a beautifully crafted piece, evocative. Sarah x
Silver Spun Sand | June 25, 2009 - 13:32
I agree with all that has been said, Chris. You have certainly worked hard on this one, but it has been worth it;-)
Tina xx