Valerie

There was a little pocket

Of time, crumb-filled

And at a lonely disadvantage,

Where she took to combing online for inspiration,

But all she found was the detritus of moments

Past, the people and places who lived out life

To such an advantage, they didn’t need to call

Themselves poets.

One such crumb, Troy, was the door she never walked

Through, although her toes had been on the threshold.

Now sticky-faced twins and a wife who’s trained

Her face to be Facebooked, Troy stands like a lone

Appendage against their collective small body.

Valerie puts herself in the woman’s place,

But there’s a gap and shadow in her brain.

All she’s known for a good long time is the pleasant

Loneliness, quietness of words that don’t expect

Her to smile when the camera flashes, and a life

Where no camera is desired at all.

“It could have been grand,” she mutters along

As she listlessly makes her way through old

Classmates, knowing what a lie that is

To the heart God crafted to span the truth

Like bird wings–majestic but just as delicate

To the touch.