Confined in glass case
of cubic proportion,
contortionist’s face
is changed by distortion.

Her body is bent –
the curious can see
great toll of this stint,
believe she will break free

at moment’s request
from square walls confining
her spirit… this test
of her own designing.

Crowd can’t understand
meaning of small movement,
pushing glass with hand,
think this self-improvement.

Short of breath, weary
of failed attempts to free
self, she becomes leery
of those who stoop to see

but do not help her
break thick walls, barriers.
Just an endless blur,
life without carriers,

with hope that withers,
without capacity
or strength that endures,
without alacrity.

Nobody knew what
to do with her – odd sight
left in such strange spot.
By now we know her light,

hidden from our view
was meant to sparkle, shine
among us, on us, too.
We had only to find

our love’s master key –
we held it just inside
hearts that broke completely
tragic day she died.