A Girl Through The Glass (edit #2.2)

[nibbed]

She's set apart, she's floating upside down.                      she's separated herself from where she was, though it doesn't seem right or wrong
All else seems right within this verdant town,                      
the goats to milk and fields of hay to scythe,
deep satisfaction in a farming life —
a happy world, why does she tumble 'round?                   good question

Her feet branch out above her like a crown                       that is clever, no, really clever
but still a smile when turned becomes a frown,                     
why would she fret with such a peaceful life?
She's set apart                                                                  floating in a strange existence

beneath her house whose roof points at the ground,
below the billow of her azure gown                                      
her face is blank. Her empty arms are lithe                         maybe is she stunned, or unable to figure something out, or forgets when she does
but though her husband's near he sees no wife.
Her head hangs low, in floods the first to drown.                 
Her part is set.                                                                   a journey



She sets her part and turns the world her way,                  relief from struggle
above each high-rise peak and alleyway
the city is her own; she plants her feet,                              she must control her destiny
stance rooted deep to guard against defeat
and draws the bold to join in her soiree.                             she's not alone forever

With street-smarts edging her naiveté                                she doesn't guard herself enough, but maybe on purpose for a thrill or curiosity?
her pages age like slow-sipped cabernet:                             age, but not
tart on the tongue, bouquet complex yet sweet.
She writes her part:

to cherish but move on from yesterday,
maintain her joie de vivre, a bit risqué                                  there's a reason for the French, but it can't be that simple
but cognizant of when to be discreet.
Her husband revels in her grin, replete                                 he strangely finds pleasure in her sadness, struggle, or inability to be complete
upon the bed she's made; they meet halfway                      troubling last two lines
within her heart.                                                                   but might be true


Hi Ellajam, I am sorry I can't offer much critique, mostly just comments as I see it. I liked your poem. I saw it as a sort of personification in part, but I don't know why, the image was just there in my mind. I imagined the character as a sort of paper sky lantern, blue, floating and tossing about, learning, & trying to remember where & why she should land. I suppose every sky lantern eventually lands, doesn't it? I hope she lands safely and someone finds her and uses her as a paper craft or lights a room with her. I don't want her destroyed on a craggy cliff or tangled in gnarly branches left only to the elements, hanging or falling into pieces of filthy litter. I hope she makes it! I thank you for the read and hope that you find many fine blessings and good fortune wherever you go! Have a great evening.