Perspicacity

I lie between these pages

The words my only comfort

In the depth of sleep

I form their sounds with my lips

Whispering them to myself

In place of a lullaby

 

I tumble through them

Shaping each syllable

With the familiarity

Of a mother speaking the names

Of her children

Until I encroach on one

I have not used before

 

It sits on the page

In a slightly tipsy manner

Its shape and length giving

It the appearance of a

Frivolous girl

Mocking the dignified

As they sit

Grave and loftily straight-backed

 

Perspicacity - Acuteness of mind

 

 

Reviews

[Emily B]

a stunning play on Magritte's painting