a reflective poem
the artist —
he sketches women
who won’t look at him.
I watch him create worlds
with charcoal and the
press of his fingers.
I buy his art
the next day in a Mom and Pop
art boutique around the corner.
I tell the shop owner,
“I used to know him,”
that was a long time ago.
he blows dust from
the pages, the artist —
sketching women
who won’t look at him.
“I used to know him,”
but I don’t anymore.
Originally published in Intimately Intricate via Medium.
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A Cornered Gurl 
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