Where Light Shows​

​

At first
I thought she was simply quiet,
a woman wrapped
in pink skin
who waited
for a sentence
to arrive.

​

Then I noticed
the bubbles at her mouth,
as if thought rose there
without the strength
to surface.

​

Her prescription listed
skinny elbow,
pouty lips,
disheveled hair.

​

Nothing diagnostic.
Nothing addressed.

​

She held
two black shoppers
in her hands.

​

Light caught on them
and lifted
for a moment,

​

as though she offered proof
of her continued existence.

​

People rarely object

to someone fading

at the edges.

 

A transparency

is easier to accept

than a person

who resists vanishing.

 

Her face had

the pale stillness

of a figure misplaced

in her own story,

 

a sketch left

without colour,

or a princess

without a kingdom

once the myth

wears thin.

 

No greeting.

No refusal.

 

Just the faint outline

of a life,

visible only

where light slows

before it passes through.

​