Recounting the reflexes
that led to down and out.
Remembering that December,
the thin coat, the glances
of passersby wondering why
the girl who was talking
to herself had not found
a warm shelf on which to perch,
the chilled canary fairy without wings.
Ruffles her feathers that they might
have thought of her so.
Regretting the rejection by men
after they’d had their fill, having
sucked her soul from within its
sand castle, the frailty of her ego.
She winding-wanders on but
pauses at odd moments to reflect.
© 2012 Amy Barlow Liberatore/Sharp Little Pencil
National Poetry Month, Day Three! One more take on Sunday Scribblings’ prompt, Reflect. Also hangin’ with my kin at Poets United: Scroll down their right column and meet some amazing poets! Peace, Amy