She stands on the stone shelf, silence of night sky a black pearl ;
she takes in a deep breath, writes in whispers of vapour.
Memories like dishes washed and stacked away,
the scab healed , crust of dead skin crumpled into folds:
the new pink skin – tense and glistening .
She descends the hill, stars like flecks of dust
take flight in the early morning sky.
(This poem is in response to Day 2 prompt of 2010 November PAD Chapbook Challenge. This is my ‘ready to start poem’)