She has listened at eaved windowsill
Until she knew grounding by such sad situations
As a face peering off into horizon
Peeling time off sunsets so rest could come
She has carried flaying sticks too short for use
Against this guilt I ply pane with
Ashed forehead, cut hair,
Little finger missing from mere mention of his name
She has seen this
And waited in her hard winter huddle
For spring’s dry-up and dust
To scrape off this angst
Author notes
Could not help but take the prompt myself
In a list
Please tell me what you think
Comments
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Aww
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