Loneliness is a dark thing, closeted away, along with other skeletons….
Each week The Sunday Whirl invites writers to write a poem or short prose using some or all of the “Wordle’s” 12 words. This week it is:
A Bird on the Wire
Look. There. A bird on the wire.
She stared at a lonely moon long before
we ever discovered the elephant in the room.
She’d keep it closeted forever, if she could;
though one day it spilled out on its own, surprising everyone.
And when it did, she said she had had enough of the skeletons in there.
She said it wasn’t possible to step up her game any further.
Change, she admitted, with remorse, was inevitable.
Along with a head shake and a bruising mouth twist, she declared:
There are no gifts in the present. Her insight was a stern purple.
Therefore, she wouldn’t stay.
I never saw her after that.