The Menace of the Years: Sixteen Sins

A slight girl of 12
she was,
caressing all her sins;
Every broken thing had to be mended,
never binned.

Now, I’ve outlived her four years or so-
yet I stay the same…
glancing at every chance I have,
trying to stay sane.

And yet she lies
with broken eyes,
confessing all her sins.

In a tiny corner still,
a pen in hand,
on paper her heart lands,
that smile is my greatest sin.

Que sera sera.
I try to breathe,
and sit all pretty and still.
Brooding, crying, face in hand — that’s all it takes to kill.

© achillesheelpoetry, 2022