By: Mary Shuda

You Are (Not) Alone

In the chair, a boy.
Father’s toy;
Mother’s joy.

The mother an angel
the father able,
but not interested in the cradle.

pierced despite his armor
surrounded by people
he’s dying alone

###

The Girl I Fell For

Buds, red as your hair,
will bloom into something great,
exactly like you.

Scales, blue as your eyes,
flaky butterfly scales, fragile,
exactly like you.

Fur, rich as your dress,
detailed watercolor paint,
exactly like you.

Colors: vibrant, pure,
an impossible scene,
exactly like you.