MZ--Hopefully you will never discover this, but once many women turn 50 or so, they become invisible (unless you're someone like Rita Moreno, who at 85 is STILL stunning). They become lumps that move through life but are never noticed...
It's tough to not have any money. Nor any looks or wit, some asset rather than beauty to make a worth. I think that is the street people's problem, one at least. Maybe connections' will do. ..
Oh, THIS: "Air,but not breath.Sound,but not song." Whew.
as always, your spare style lets in all the light we need ~
A slow descent into the darkness around that long dead star...this one reverberates long after the read.
Air,but not breath.Sound,but not song.Your heart is a drum,but no one marchesto its staccatoBeautiful!!
Sadly too common.
After I read you poem, I was lost in contemplation and suddenly saw the subject as Planet Earth, a few millenia down the line with all forms of life wiped clean by a nuclear apocalypse.. Not perhaps your intended meaning but it gave me chills.
Sioux's comment is what I was thinking about when presenting this prompt... and I ended up writing about something else. I pledge to come back to it, painful though perhaps it is. Your line "you are not a consumer" seemed to me very refreshing, but then immediately you present is as the one solid possibility... scary, and makes me pine for the ethereal.
your hitch hitch at the end is just what my breath did!
Love the "real" of your beautifully composed poem.
It happens to often.
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