Unveilings
It was not I that unveiled her beauty.
The model waiting to enter a camera lens
fusses over a shoulder strap and steps out.
Did I see a veil fall?
The crying girl beneath was erased in an instant
as she felt eyes upon her, it vanished
where she pouted and posed.
Maybe I was mistaken, maybe I’m and old romantic,
seeking something not there,
but I do see her alone with her dressing table mirror,
listening to the glass image, telling it not to cry so.
Exasperated she rises and walks to a window.
There is a man in the distance, he is away
from the crowded street.
He is waving to her.
I imagine I am Peter Pan bringing home the lost girls.
Though she sees only a small boy
and wonders why the child is all alone in the park
crying.
Then she remembers her own secret image
and understands.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2021
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment