The Secret Life of Thought

The Cone

Every night, out she goes
Around and around the house.
Her face is bright, her mind ever turning, ever whirling,
Sucking the girl from reality into dream.

The dog barks, yanking on her leash,
Jarring the girl from her realm of thought
The girl reminds herself to walk:
One foot, then the next-

And trips, seemingly over nothing,
Nothing, but the dark.
She picks herself up, knees stinging.
The girl just keeps going on,

Heart heavy, pretending,
Pretending, nothing’s wrong,
That life’s same as everyone else’s,
That her coordination’s more than joke.

The next night, making her rounds,
Staring through the dark-
Piercing her heart- an orange cone,
Planted where she fell.

Far from false-
Silent accusations heard by none.
She angrily brushes away the tear stinging her cheek,
A glistening star come to earth

Each night is the same:
She sees the flickering mocking cone
And goes around it.
Head held high against the pain,
Eyes fixed to the sparkling sky.