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.