You try to convince yourself
but the only person who believes you
is you
with your hands in the warm water of the sink
faraway you hear the sound of dishes being washed
see a woman standing straight backed
her toes inverted
she’s staring out into the night garden
wondering why she believes herself
when everyone else can see she’s a fraud
a pretence
someone who subsists on delusions
like age doesn’t matter and
success isn’t measured by attainment
her thin veined hands
busy with pots and pans
to keep from stillness striking her dumb
behold her truth
she has gone through life with her mouth sewn
tied into knots of her own doing
and a few given her at birth
when they lifted her out into the stale city air
and said
well I see that
it’s a girl
TheFeatheredSleep 