BY DOLORES ESPOSITO
Copyright is held by the author.
Her white hair
So long, so decayed
Encircling the shapeless body, direful.
A sun –is it?- on her breast,
Expanding unfaithfully, in pale colors,
In dictating form.
Why are the eyes missing?
Two flat lines, lacking spirit,
Right below lustreless eyelashes.
Below her, pink flowers,
Beyond all dark -is it? Disheartening, gloomy, reducing.
The ghost of my past