wildwestwind: Her Mirrors

Michael's Fáilte

Welcome to these writing warmups, blatherings, rantings, meditations, perorations, salutations, latest and those on time, those narrative, declarative, interrogative, gollywogative and other outdated, belated, simulated musings, perusings, shavings and other close calls, with no disrespect intended, that's why no real names included whenever impossible to avoid the guilt that came in the crib for uttering something that would hurt or injure those in authority, being of everlasting servitude to all and sundry, having chosen the road not taken and the frost on the pumpkin long before the kettle turned black or the cat found its own tail fascinating,
Your humble servant, etc.

Monday, October 10, 2011

Her Mirrors

Her mirrors know her witnesses
in that confluence of ghostly presences
and the two dimensional wall
of her perceptions

her book markers
know her collection of thumb prints
the well-read coterie of borrowers and
lenders the never-returned perusers

her windows understand only the sunset
the cheerful bruising of each day's fruitfall

the floor of her house the soles of all those
who passeth misunderstanding how they
came and went the vendors and the venters
only the former friendly enough to win her smile

her earrings the dancing moments fit within
the circles she so tightly drew
a nodding of the head
a shaking of disbelief
a rare laughter and the suffocating press
of the telephone with no way out
and there
there upon the old wall pictures of a life
not hers a child an aunt mysteriously
ensconced in Minnesota
the rest utter strangers