Mirabel Smith Poet Prose Poetry

Around the Corner

Around the corner you can see her,
Sitting in the window sipping English breakfast.
Each morning she wakes up excited,
Rises from her bed to check her email.
She rocks her foot, tucked beneath her leg,
And smiles out the window.
Slipping on her cotton robe, 
She heads down the oak stairs,
Into her maple kitchen.

Teapots are scattered throughout the rooms,
Staining letters, newspapers and old photos.
Sadly she leaves them unwashed for days,
Until her weekly house cleaner arrives.
She makes sure to buy the most authentic ones,
But because of the small town they tend to be all similar.
Lightly painted lilies, tulips and lavender.

At her desk one would assume she has never left home,
She has written more plays and novels than Shakespeare,
And possibly more tragic.
Like him, she writes of lovers, regulars, and upper class,
But I find her stories far more real.

(unfinished)

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