L’ETE DERNIER

No portal 

to some

magic land 

for you.

Your armor of long ago--

a carapace of tangled curls

and the key to the attic--

will not save you.

Life goes on.

The world spins round.

Someone is breaking eggs into a frying pan,

or buying a toothbrush.

The ink

on your writing desk 

cannot stop 

any of it.

What will you do

with your precious self?

You took a risk.

You packed up the sun,

And put the beach away.

Now what?

By Barbara Shields