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Wisp

by Heather Cumbo 9 months ago in performance poetry
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Home for a Drifting Spirit

Wisp
Photo by Chantal & Ole on Unsplash

An ethereal spirit

who drifts from crowd to crowd

without ever fitting in

never feels at home

anywhere.

The heart longs for

and belongs to

so many things.

A blue smoky jazz café,

a bonfire by a farmyard pond,

opening night for a Broadway play,

or a quiet book nook with a cup of tea.

I tell people of my past lives.

"I was a hippie once."

"I went through a goth stage."

"I've been to a couple steampunk conventions."

Some see me as a wife and mother.

Some people call me crazy,

or, to be nice, unique.

Or special.

But where is my home?

I am a wisp.

I drift along in this world,

going unnoticed by many,

appreciated by few.

I float among the people who love me,

hoping to leave a gentle impression,

yet knowing I've chilled some hearts.

I make my home where I want.

I do what I want.

I am content.

And I shall never, ever die.

performance poetry

About the author

Heather Cumbo

IsStar

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