she stitches on
her nervous ne’er do well smile
and swallows what’s left of her pride.
so overexposed that the lines of her blur
and she pales into indistinction,
a ghost of an image.
what’s left on your retina when you close your eyes.
the shadow of a bird crossing the road ahead of your car.
her hand me down humility
permits only the merest
throat clearing reminder of her presence
tentative as a newborn foal on its
untried impossible legs.