Fabrice Poussin writes

Her Spitting Image

Another miracle as a star rose
warm in a pearly dress
a mist emanated from her form
wrinkly from a moist cocoon. 


She looked to the gray skies
under the guise of her prison
submissive to the learned hand
counting the pulses down below. 


A cry followed a sigh in her daze
a moan and a subdued scream at last
she felt peace again though the victory
her body defeated her soul reborn. 


Through a shield of a watery vision
she caught a glimpse of a kind palm
upon her shoulder with tender reassurance
all was well in the crowded room. 


Alone in the vast amphitheater now
time ran a fast pace to the finish line
sitting with the remembrance of a former glee
she trembles with bittersweet sadness. 


Embraced to her breast her spitting image
a girl of her making a woman of satin
she smiles with those grateful touches
a subtle spark nourishes their lives.