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Literature Text
Last of her kind,
two-skinned,
not thick,
same on the inside,
different without.
She left them behind,
seeking others, knowing them gone,
wishing,
hoping,
to glimpse them in her reflection,
daily at dusk,
seeing only that
face,
their face,
the same as all the rest,
not hers.
Heather blossoms
frame that mask,
unmasked
in front of all.
She wishes she could enter those
waters,
also not her own,
fresh, but not sweet,
alive, yet not harsh,
unchanging,
changing the landscape,
but not
her self,
her soul.
Trapped by a
ring,
two,
to bind,
to seal,
the seal-soul out,
the wife,
the woman,
for all to know
forever.
(c) July 2007, Kerrie McNay
two-skinned,
not thick,
same on the inside,
different without.
She left them behind,
seeking others, knowing them gone,
wishing,
hoping,
to glimpse them in her reflection,
daily at dusk,
seeing only that
face,
their face,
the same as all the rest,
not hers.
Heather blossoms
frame that mask,
unmasked
in front of all.
She wishes she could enter those
waters,
also not her own,
fresh, but not sweet,
alive, yet not harsh,
unchanging,
changing the landscape,
but not
her self,
her soul.
Trapped by a
ring,
two,
to bind,
to seal,
the seal-soul out,
the wife,
the woman,
for all to know
forever.
(c) July 2007, Kerrie McNay
I wrote this last summer, in part about living away from 99% of my family and closer to my in-laws and the people my husband grew up knowing, feeling at times a stranger here as well as there. It is also about where I now live. And about feeling like a certain mythical creature you must now guess. 
(I may give a hint-later...)
This will also probably end up in a revised edition of Twisting the Glass.
(I may give a hint-later...)
This will also probably end up in a revised edition of Twisting the Glass.
© 2008 - 2024 perrina
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