Frailty and Strength

Sisters, I prick my finger to remember
-sometimes-

Insecurity adorns herself
in ornaments of deception.
Skeletons of the white washed shiver

behind chic baubles and trinkets.
Some stride down vogue street
plucking feathers from birds in passing.
Pluck, “Did you see her hair?” and pluck
“Maybe it’s just me, but I would never…”

Daggers in a Coach bag

for a razor-blade manicure-
weapons of the wounded.
There the jaundice heart hides
wrapped in the decoupage modern debris.
I prick my finger to remember-
how frightened are the Lost.

Sisters, I prick my finger to rethink-
how translucent are the Mighty.
Unless you have spirit eyes, you will miss them.
Some- inked lifelines or twisted form;
some- wrinkle and worn stone-
how far they have come on the breath
of gossamer prayers to
craft bounty shared from hollow hands.

I prick my finger and remember.

I will engrave
their stories in oak pillars-
parting the synthetic and the brittle.

Reviews

[Emma Ruth]

Beautifully written; your use of language and imagery put so much life into your work. I especially like the 'razor-blade manicure' - so much food for thought... Thank you for sharing :)

[Rogue]

Again wonderfully articulate.
How callous and catty us females can be at times. Each trying to look better than the next person in the need to feel better about who they are. You depicted this very well.

[Helen Warner]

Thank you for reading. As women we are so bombarded with these false messages that I find myself falling into the same trap. I try to stop myself and do a rethink.

[B-poet]

This a very riveting, distinctive and unique poem. I love how you conveyed the vivid imagery within your diction to display a perfectly detailed canvass of a woman's inner inhibitions as they relate to her world. Great write. A thought provoking read. :)

[Helen Warner]

Thank you!