She Doesn’t Know Her Beauty

After Heath Houston

Credit

She wakes
her hair wild, her
eyes crusted shut

drapes flying open
o wicked light
eyes peek at the
specter…
No!
’tis true? can it be?
this woman she sees?

Kneeling, falling
nesting hands
over face
wasted with wilting

heavy with heaving
each sob beckons her
reel, her list

briny sting of
each tear
announcing
undoing and
tempting
youth’s petulant gaze

This linked acrostic poem is part of Caustic: linked acrostics on Chalkboard. I’ve borrowed from:

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