Thursday, August 22, 2013

Thimbleful (Poem 142)

She of the velvet existence--
lonely for 
the camomile beach and 
the creak and sway of old, moored boats and
her thimbleful of unhurried joy--
laughed pleasantly, ignoring
the old missing that pleaded
and tightened, her fingers
clutching a long-missing tube 
of Prussian Blue paint.

(c) 2013, by Hannah Six

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