Rescripting
 
She teeters on the edge
of  memories
where the air smells of
pumpkin and nutmeg
and the branches 
of the weeping willow 
outside her window
dance on the wind
like nimble-footed children
playing catch-me-not in spring. 

The sun fluctuates 
behind clouds shaped like dragons 
and leaves an oblong shadow
stretched across the room
and she tiptoes over it
so not to break the spell
while the soft whir
of the fan above her
sings a silent lullaby
she hasn’t heard in years.

Morning is painted 
in a new shade of sighs
exhaled on a cleansing breath
as she packs her past away
in a little silver box,
and like a blob of ink 
that stained her 
it leaves a tinge of blue
that won’t wash off
but cannot hurt her anymore.


february 2007
Janet Reid





Awarded by Poetic Constellations ~ PIP




Awarded by Poetic Constellations ~ Dawn





Awarded by Poetic Constellations ~ Thomas





Awarded by New Horizons




Awarded by Poetic Constellations