Left hand rhythmically pounding
Against my chest, as if it stood between my poppy and me.
I scream, Come back to me, but the words fall flat
At my feet undelivered—what was mine is now gone.
Hope lost, I parade the neighbourhood,
Hatless, breast swinging in my ratty sweater,
Legs weighed down by loss, dragging me along.
Their eyes and whispers, my navigation.
Are they buying it? They should
Believe that my swollen mascara-stained eyes shut tight—
Almost— by wails that boomed around
Four corner walls that cage me, escaping
Beyond to their curious ears, are real.
Oh, such spectacular fools— serves her right, they say.
