She sits
In silence
Waiting for her day
Hands folded neatly
In her lap
Into the distance
Looking for life?
Looking for hope?

She sits
On an old wooden bench
In an eerie quiet
In a vacuum of time

Spine arched
In silent surrender
Feet firmly planted
On the ground of disappointment

Bare feet
Dry, cracked heels
Resting on soft, dark-brown earth
Muddying the hem
Of a long, flowing skirt

She sits
And looks
And deliberates

The life to which
She has resigned

Slowly rises
Reenters the monotone

Leaving space
For another soul
To come
And sit
And contemplate

Comment on this Post


I also write poetry and love your poem. What was the inspiration for this piece? Keep writing and posting. I look forward to reading more of your work.

Thanks. Louise Paré Ashland, OR


Me too love writing poems. I was thinking what was stopping her. I imagine "She" in a fragile and delicate frame. All slender and in white "spined arched" yet looking up with hope.

Your title do suggest hope. Loved how this poem tickled my thoughts

Have fun writing and it wonderful to be engaged in your poems.

Cheers, Amei