Turned Tables
In front of me.
She stands.
In a floral dress.
Delicate petals.
On wrinkled skin.
Her joints withering.
Time was unkind.
So was she.
I still remember.
Her words.
Her fist.
She is a predator.
The hunter.
Shot me down.
A fallen angel.
Inner voices.
Conflicted.
Alarmed.
Run away.
Fight back.
Never mind.
I was helpless then.
She is helpless now.
The others see.
A permanent scar.
Limping soul.
Crooked smile.
In their eyes.
I am cursed.
In mine.
I am a survivor.
Invincible.
Poetry by Jeremy Mifsud
Photo by Quentin Lagache on Unsplash