| Turned To Stone Like an alien carrying a plastic bag of belongings she stood new wave bag lady-hatted silent smoking cigarettes on the corner bus waiting squirrel watching bird feeding a crumb or two in erratic motion feeling uncomfortable with eyes cast down she sat awhile after miles of travelling inside and out rocking, self numbing so tired a laugh here, a snicker there cold stares, open hostility shame rushed through her body blushing cheeks to burning crimson beating her limited image down, down further down erupting deep volcanoes overflowing covering her in a river of lava molding a stony statue gripping a plastic bag of belongings on the corner. © Sarah Gallant 2001-2002 |