Two poems I wrote this semester:
She is brushing her hair in the dark
the light from my bedroom makes shadows
I watch her from my desk. Does she know
how beautiful she is, the mirror
we can barely see reflecting her
only slightly? It’s hard to see her
but I realize she’s smiling at me
while I stare and wonder, reflecting
on her reflection. I smile back, and
our mirror interaction holds us,
for merely a second, together
then she leaves. Her hair is smooth and sleek
and I return to my work once more.
The leaves are crunching underneath her feet,
they hiss and rattle with each step;
she’s ankle-deep, and weeping as she walks,
her face a tragic portrait. Tears go dripping down
to fall on dress, on shoes, on ground—
her heart is broken. Those who pass her on the path
know not to reach a hand or look away
so gaze at leaves, their bright and vivid colors
the purpose for the expedition on this day.
A pity she who cries can’t see them.
Her eyes are blurred too much with tears.
Yep. Now I'm going to keep working on my story.
"Hope on Fire" ~ Vienna Teng
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