She cuts onions and cried
camouflaged tears of lying bliss
in a home of golden pastures
and dancing dreams
created from vows of soul searched passions,
the evidence of an evening of euphoria.
Bellowed as grandfather clocks do
when scheduled needs and desires
are amiss and not met late yesterday,
from cookie molds
shaped like innocent pre-forged icons
and baked sugary tart meals of Cimmerian delight.
Betrothed into the domain of Sisyphean
shamed and saddened to have looked away from Agamemnon,
her hidden silence became too profane for copious people.
When day became night
only the stitch in her side,
the irony in her laughter,
became the only joy in life
in her dreamless world.
Eve’s Rib by Shazza Nakim
Copyright © by Peace of Mind Publishings and with permission by Shazza Nakim