Sherry Asbury Poet Prose Poetry

She

She

Her skin
is bruised
so easily,
leaving layers
of itself
like calling cards
Soft old bones,
prone to breaks
Lungs that 
no longer
suck in hope
A girl inside
an envelope
of worn-out flesh
and bitter dreams
No one touches her
for fear she
will crumple
and be blown away
by some callous wind

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Caren Krutsinger November 21, 2018 at 8:41 PM I thought "she is talking about a woman with a poet's heart", then I thought "she is talking about an older woman," then I thought she is talking about the fragile woman who lives in all of us. I like it very very much, dear one.