In Zoe’s eyes the birds don’t sing,
waters run too shallow.
If she could sleep those worries away for a
Blink-length in time…
In Zoe’s hands winds drop bland,
little scabs tremble with the memory.
She fears no strangers but each
is an intruder
she will not talk to.
She fills in gaps with words apt and inept.
Oilcloth strips she stuffs in crack,
when cracks are all she sees and walks on.
Answers rehearsed, eyes dart to the left,
A clue we have seen before and again.
Zoe’s skin bears the weight of all scars
Her own and the world’s.
Your world temperature turns down a notch.
Linked to dVerse Poets Pub: Poetic Expressions. This week it was all about Dominant Impressions in Artistic Expression. For me, Venetian carnival masks are all about sadness rather than gaiety.