Her thoughts
Are like cut grass
In a summer field.

 
She stares down
At the poem on the page,
Scared by its secret code.

 
Something in her
Is dying,
Or at least decaying.

 
Married young,
Her children untidy
The rooms in her mind.

 
She cannot cope,
She cannot think
Beyond their unwritten lives.

 
Her beautiful face
Is sacred,
Sad as Mary’s

 
In an empty church;
Her long brown hair
Curtains a sleepless night.

 
Something is gone,
Something has been raked
And taken away.

 
Sunlight stains
The window with hope.
Somewhere deep in her,

 
A Wonderland girl’s smiles
Fall like new words
To an untouched page.

Peter Thabit Jones © 2016

Published in SELECTED POEMS (Bilingual: English/Romanian), 2016