#387 (lady of misfortune)

Layers of clouds

floating above

her head, grand

celestial march of

water and air, still

her mind is worrying

about trivial chores

and how she won’t

be able to pay the rent

unless she takes on

a third job. Grinding

every day, holding her

breath in polyester

uniforms. Smiling for

strangers, selling them

cake and cofffee, even

if they won’t even look

her into her eyes. She

rarely gazes into the blue,

her feet sunken too much

into the quicksand of struggle

not leaving enough room

for imagination. Gloomy

the evenings she spends

sewing away for pennies,

even the glow of candles

wouldn’t light up her ashen

features. Yet sometimes she

remembers the time she

could watch shooting stars

for hours and hours, unbothered

with neither time nor money.

Then a quiet glow fades into

those dark eyes, making them

shine like polished amber.

Those moments she collects

in her box of treasures, and

every time the lid opens, the

moon steals a smile off our

lady of misfortune.

 

© Matthias Geh, 9th July 2018

 

4 Comments

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