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Lonely Girl
by Alisa JsShe sat on the seat
Far in the rear so no one would notice,
Her cheeks stained with blue
Flecks of gray draped her casual sweater
Guess its cold this time of year
In the region of strain she calls home
She couldnt have been more than eight, nine at most
Tattered shoes on her feet and I wondered
Curious, I tendered a glance in her direction
With the wave of my hand, I nodded
Waiting for some type of response
I stared,
Nothing
Not one ounce of acknowledgment
Her brown eyes glazed forward
I noticed she shifted ever so carefully where she sat
In the back of our minds, a memory unfolds
Carefully, as not to alarm
Gently, a vapor
A dream colored wisp
Teasing the view, just in case
Youre not ready,
Not ready for the unveiling
Not ready for the truth it could bring
I put down my mirror and cried...
10/01/2007 Posted on 10/01/2007
Copyright © 2024 Alisa Js
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by Michelle Angelini on 10/02/07 at 04:34 AM Alisa, this is so tender. I can sense the deep hurt in the girl's eyes, as I've often felt must be reflected in mine. Sometimes, we see into our pasts and what we were, maybe feeling as if we've never grown from that point or want to retreat into that "little girl" again, for the relative safety that might have been there. Yet, memory is a tricky device, and it often reflects for us what we wish rather than what's actually the truth. This is what I sense in these words.
~Chelle~ |
| Posted by Jean Mollett on 10/02/07 at 04:55 AM Hi Alisa,
Great write. Yes, indeed tender, yet kinda sad too. Emotional. One wonders just how many women, was that little girl at one time in their lives.
It's sad, but it happens today yet. |
| Posted by Charlie Morgan on 10/02/07 at 02:07 PM ...A, this is tooooo much, gal you popped the top on this one, the last line is a killer...and i so agree w/ babara that statement .."region of pain called home"mmmmmm, good work melady...peace, charlie |
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