Studio Portrait

by

At seventeen, her happiness is self made

and beautiful.  Tailored to seventies chic

with the flair of the suit she sews with

such stylish hearts of hope. Innocent

of the hands she will be dealt,

his fingers greedy and strange.

A holiday stitched into a marriage bed.

No roses, just brown orange bottles

arranged in a glass cabinet that tinkles

with regret.  The years dissolving

into sepia stains as she finds herself

left behind in a land without words.

Just his thirst and their apologies.

if she could travel back she’d warn

those gorgeous, trusting eyes.

Tear open that self assured poise

of a young girl with everything

to dream for.  Rip from the camera lens

the future she once saw reflected, steal back

the years they took from her without asking.

by Aoife Mannix

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