She latched on,
I observed, to several
instant best friends.
I accepted.
So few could share
my 'spooky stuff'.
And there was her daughter,
who came this time, we knew,
to learn from me too.
Later she offered
to share a house;
it seemed kind.
By then she’d suffered –
which made her cruel
I learned.
She under-estimated.
I am soft,
not weak.
I don’t revisit
nightmares.
The end.
[Poem #49]
This began as a game some bloggers played in 2008, to write about people who'd made an impact, in the same number of words as one's age, every day for a year. I did them less often and went on longer, adding one word each birthday. I stopped in 2016 and incorporated them into my main poetry blog. In 2019 I resumed the project and gave it its own blog again, with a new name, where it may unfold at its own (slow, intermittent) pace. I've labelled these verse portraits, but they're more like quick sketches: mere glimpses, impressions....
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