Her portrait watches
neighbors shuffle in,
wondering
who she was,
and maybe
find a deal.
She hears them whisper
once she was a beauty,
once she was rich.
They don’t know
for certain, she kept
to herself.
She watches them
run hands over
brocade and velveteen,
try on her jewelry,
rifle through her
evening dresses,
squabble over her shoes.
She watches them
walk out with
parts of her life,
fracture her façade.
As in life,
she is unwanted.
She sits at the curb,
the trash truck is coming.
published in Paddler Press Volume 6 “Changes,” republished on Garden of Neuro
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