Friday, August 19, 2011


Marla perked up like a snowbird,
greeting the vast horizon with intent
contemplating her surroundings
setting her sights on possibility.

She slowly moved, unwillingly,
to procrastination, deeper into
her unfolding defiance.

If you need me, I am her,
she thought,
as if she held a choice.

I am a world unto myself,
repeated in her close put ambivalence.

Even the tree etched bark reminded
the woodpecker of her duties.

Again her thoughts turned to accomplishment,
as the snow turned a flaming orange.

“I ‘m a slow moving concurrence.”
announcing out loud, over
her distain for acceptance.

If I fail,
I fail for all the right reasons.

I refuse to be a pillow to
rest your insecurity.

She slowly turned to face her
target, buried in downy comforter,
so full of misunderstanding,
so buried in denial.


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