Posted in Poetry

13th Floor

This pixie
with the fragmented
smile
picks up your fallen
papers
your fallen days
as the elevator
lightly hammers

eleven…

twelve…

thirteen.  She vanishes
through the doors

thirteen                 thirteen                       thirteen

and you continue
to nineteen
feeling all the pressure
of five stops between

How many times do you ride
and return

forgot my coffee cup

forgot my phone

forgot…

waiting for enchantment
at thirteen?

© Jilly’s All Rights Reserved

Day 8 of NaPoWriMo / GloPoWriMo and we are encouraged to explore the magical and mysterious in our writing.  In keeping with the mystery of April, I continue the unintended story of two people that began on Day 3.

She & He #6