You are ripped up.
You are the lost sock.
You are the windblown,
dirt-sodden,
slightly shredded flyer;
an event passed while you were plastered to a tire,
going around and around and around.
You are the petals on the sidewalk,
dropped from the hanging basket,
more pretty than cement,
no longer a flower,
no longer power.
-Gillian Cornwall, 2010.
2 comments:
"more pretty than cement, no longer a flower" ... and then you tie it back to power and I can't help but read a commentary on society and the disproportionate amount of media value placed on younger women... and then what happens when we age?
Yes. What happens when we age? I suppose we hope to have one loved one nearby who sees us for the vessel of life and beauty, endurance and intelligence that we have always been, for without this...
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