The rain little more than a dull
trickling, I huddle. I peer over
the curb’s edge.
The puddle of dreams, my mirror
of desire. My fairytale reflection.
I am not there. I am invisible. I
am little more than a shadow. A
A rained on ghost.
© Catt Turner 2010
Inspiration hits at all sorts of strange moments. I can be cooking, cleaning, reading, working, when bang! It’s there and it won’t go away until I stop what I am doing and use it. With this, I was reading poetry when suddenly the idea of being invisible, or not having a reflection hit, and this is what appeared on the page.