... she took them from the cupboard ... paused
... top of the ferris wheel at seventeen ... his hand on her breast
... everywhere they turned another game of chance
... thirty seven carnival glass summers ... thirty seven lies
... dropped one by one from her hands
So evocative, Teresa; even the title is a poem in itself. And it gives me a pang, recalling the ways in which I lost myself at that age.
ReplyDeleteSeth, It's so nice to hear from you. There are so many ways to lose oneself, relationships seem first and foremost for so many, myself included. This puzzle that's life seems to be taking an awfully long time to put together... I wrote a poem about that when I was 16 and it still holds true in so many ways. I hope all is well with you....
Deletesuch disillusionment in such soft words.
ReplyDeleteSooner or later everyone experiences life’s disappointments.
Yes ... it seems to come with the territory ... thanks so much for reading and commenting, Friko.
DeleteEvocative is the word that came to me as well. And this: clearly you had a more interesting girlhood than I did!
ReplyDeleteThis poem arrived via a friend's carnival glass collection and my own composite of marriages that came about through less than well-thought out decisions. Sometimes pain sounds interesting... :))
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