Where the Sun Don’t Shine

Stella D'Oro gold

 

Stiff upper lip and thick skin

blocked some of the blows,sure. But

they also blocked something she

needed more than oxygen,

more profoundly than safety,

more urgently than bars.

.

And now that she’s finally

transparent, those places where

her heart is the thinnest let

by far the most sunlight through.

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Living on the Edge

razor

 

It’s hard to live on the edge

of a razor; balancing

barbed blades with band-aids becomes

an act even daredevils

blanch at. So when they found her

hoisted on her own petard,

split too many ways (like the

fair magician’s assistant

at the headlining show) no

one wasted their energy

by exhibiting surprise.

 

She Hides

ruffed grouse

 

She hides her soul from prying,

pulls invisibility

close, feathered mantle shielding

vulnerable organs. Should

strangers breach her barriers,

happen suddenly upon

her inner sanctum, retreat

protocols dictate complete

withdrawal, complete shut-down.

.

So when she hears her Maker’s

footsteps in the garden, she

freezes, terrified, lest His

x-ray vision spy her here,

naked; not comprehending

a Love without boundaries

or condemnation, she hides.

************************

This ruffed grouse didn’t understand that I meant her no harm, and beat a fast retreat. Is there a bond between her kind and mine, after all?

Her Eyes

gaping window

 

Her smile lifts her lips in all

the expected places, her

laughter chimes harmony at

appropriate pauses. But

her eyes – her eyes are empty

windows, unshuttered channels

to the brokenness within,

where the lights are never on,

and no one is ever home.

 

 

 

 

Proof of Purchase

pinkpeony.jpg

 

Her reply blushes,

apologetic for existing

beyond what her

back story projected

.

(probable destiny –

doormat, a yearbook

dilemma). From

inside those petals,

.

she can’t possibly

appreciate the

mystery and fragrance

that draws him in,

.

fly to honey. She

checks her nails,

boredom masking

terror, and another

.

one bites the dust.

She will add him

to the collection,

proof of purchase.

Scanner

platycodon.jpg

 

Experience turns her

satellite outward,

scanning,

ever scanning

for anomalies,

places where her

heart might be cut as on

a rusty tin. Adrenalin

on the cusp,

cat-like in its coil,

powers the intake

of data collection

and precludes

any need

whatsoever

to turn the

scanner

inward.