Burned Bridges

cosmos brittle

She smiles – but, life having burned the bridge of her nose,

it no longer has a means to travel from her lips to her eyes.

“I hate him,” she says,

in the same tone she used to order her decaf latte,

taking a sip

and trying not to spill

on the perfectly white tablecloth.

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28 comments on “Burned Bridges

  1. Robert Rife says:

    Oh, Melody, I love this one.

  2. This is different. And I love it!!

  3. Heidi Viars says:

    I think I had coffee with her the other day … thanks for this thought-inspiring post

  4. Oh my God. You have just moved to the next level. What an awesome poem!

  5. Debbie says:

    Love this, Melody .. something new and it looks good on you!

  6. Pam says:

    unexpected and powerful!

  7. Eric says:

    You have blossomed into a springtime rose, dear. Keep them coming! You are quite an artist, girl. πŸ™‚ E

  8. Marcy says:

    Poignant!

  9. Melody ~ your in-sights are conversations with all living things ! Sorry I’ve been away, my pc isn’t on its best behavior 😦

    • melodylowes says:

      I’ve had very spotty internet service for the past few days for some reason – so many things can keep us away! No worries! πŸ™‚ This is the first of a new series of characterizations I’m trying – I find them to be a lot of fun!

  10. Gallivanta says:

    How sad for a smile not to be able to reach the eyes 😦

  11. Poor dear, she’s cut off her nose to spite her face. Hopefully, in time, the resentment will pass, the sparkle will return to her eyes, and she will no longer be afraid to stain her perfect white tablecloth.

  12. Cori Harcourt says:

    Wow. Sad, but true. Great work, Mel!

  13. jaels says:

    Familiar. Well done.

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