next

Autumn

made skeletons

of everything

corpses like crushed bugs

and dead past

 

It was old age 

that was afraid

a pale fear

as sudden

as brutal

as a heart attack or an

epileptic fit

 

It was as if age 

poured her into a cast

actions brittle

habits stiff

 

Incarcerated

painting 

a live bug onto

the metal bar

 

Life

like a cruel little bird

much too fleeting

shatters

into freedom

M a r y - J a n e  N e w t o n  

The Prisoner