a strong chair to sit in

almost far away
she found
an almost disaster
supported by almost
anything but hope
and she saw
with eyes almost open
an (almost)
ordinary life
filter down
through the years
sing song and
pretending
everything
is okay
almost good
almost bad
almost pretty
almost happy
almost broken
almost beaten
almost
turned inside out
almost drunk
almost delivered
angry
almost bitter
hurt
almost fragile
vulnerable
almost hopeful
invisible
almost old
deprived
and
hanging there
in between
every almost
that existed
growing round
like a vine
clinging hard
hanging on
was always
the white space
almost never
of escape

.

.

.

I found this photo on flickr and was immediately, almost creepily, drawn to it.
The original is here. Poem title is a line from a favorite Cowboy Junkies song.

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A poem a day for 30 days. In honor of National Poetry Month, this post is
part of NaPoWriMo. see more here.
And also dVerse poets Open Link Night, join us!



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