Writing at a whim

Sunday, November 18, 2012

At Twenty-Eight

At Twenty-Eight by Amy Fleury

It seems I get by on more luck than sense,
not the kind brought on by knuckle to wood,
breath on dice, or pennies found in the mud.
I shimmy and slip by on pure fool chance.
At turns charmed and cursed, a girl knows romance
as coffee, red wine, and books; solitude
she counts as daylight virtue and muted
evenings, the inventory of absence.
But this is no sorry spinster story,
just the way days string together a life.
Sometimes I eat soup right out of the pan.
Sometimes I don’t care if I will marry.
I dance in my kitchen on Friday nights,
singing like only a lucky girl can.

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/12:35 AM

about me

vanessa.
boring and inscrutable.
satirical and opinionated.
sardonic but innocuous.
enigmatic and taciturn.
pococurante but caring.
neurotic but with equanimity.
you wouldn't get me at all,
cause I wouldn't let you.

quote

"Let me tell you this: Some of life's questions you have to answer, some you just have to dance your face off and scream "no comment."" --- John Mayer

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