smile

she was left alone too long, 

sitting and quilting, 

crocheting little destinies that she imagined

would crown her in all the heart 

and happiness she would ever need. 

it would sharpen her resolve

and her lunacy would rise like the sea, 

hair would flutter about her face; so solemn, 

as if that hidden expression were 

studying every nuance of its obstruction- 

    and replicating the shade her eyes would seek. 

she in summer, her darkside like a wistful cattail 

would wrap around the afghans leg,  

and in the cinnamon dusk, the shrew 

would fall to shadows, wallow by the window

flit at the teethmarks on the frame. 

soon she would die, and she knew that, 

but the lost part would never return, 

knowing this and a smile were 

all that she could suffer,  

so die she did. 

--dec, 11