Cocoon
Huddled in a secluded corner,
she pulls cloud-threads around her,
trying to wrap her pain
in softness.
Outside, the garden waits --
flowers of the blue moon
drop their petals, one by one,
and the cracked soil cries out
for tending.
Voices climb through her window,
only to shatter
in unintelligible fragments
on the floor.
Spikes of duty occasionally
perforate her shell of numbness;
her body obeys, her thoughts
wandering aimlessly behind.
From its varnished wall,
a clock ticks
but time drifts by, untouched.
© Copyright 2003 Laryalee Fraser
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