Feast

Original: Creative Commons Design: http://bookgenesis.wordpress.com

Original: Creative Commons
Design: http://bookgenesis.wordpress.com

She could generate a laugh
from the tarred sacks of her lungs,
from cholesterol clogged veins,
from the empty pockets of torn jeans.

She could say,
“I’m broke,”
like the rattle of a car
spitting black fumes
and popping loud shot-gun blasts.

She never dreamed of escape,
a way out.

She never reminisced
or stirred ancient ghosts with her running mind.

She walked forward –
one step.
Two.

She slid on her pants, one leg at a time,
from the stranger’s bedroom floor.

She was so alive they envied her poorness.

She was a feast to behold –
starving inside.

© Laura A. Lord, 2015


Thank you to The Sunday Whirl for their prompt this week.