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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.

diminishing visibly,

her hand me down humility

permits only the merest

throat clearing reminder of her presence

apologetic, self-effacing,

tentative as a newborn foal on its

untried impossible legs.

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