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04 February 2014

Penelope, age 8

She watched him standing and joking
With a group of rough-looking
Boys out in the street.

She waived
And he blushed
And then they all laughed at her.

She pulled out the thread
Of her sewing, kept her
Crayons in her backpack.

She cast her eyes down
And her sadness unfastened
The stars from the sky.

The swallows fell dead to the ground. 
The sun was blotted out.
The suitors laughed more.

He turned his back on her,
A shield against the arrows
Of his shame from her bow

And she walked
On the wine-dark sea,
The sidewalk home.