American Sonnets Revised

The Watchers

I glimpse my face held captive in their eyes,  
Small mirrors, glass or plastic.  They don’t blink,
But sit on shoebox shelves and wonder where
Their child has gone. Who is this in her place?
Without her, legs are still and voices mute.
Fur tipped ears collect dust and backs crease.
Small hugs are unaccepted.  Yet they smile,
Awaiting her return.
                                                 I’ll not be back. 

My arms no longer rush to their embrace,
And childlike love turns into fond mem’ry.     
I’m not the girl they knew, though they’ve not changed,
In their purpose to love and receive life.
So as they watch and smile, I’ll smile too,
Kiss one’s small plastic nose,
                                                   Pretend it sighs. 

Flu

Three cups of ginger ale – I remain ill.
I want fresh air but feel I would collapse
Before I reached the far-off bedroom door.
Weak arms and legs make hills from my covers.
I cannot read, can only sit, sip, munch
On crackers, toast, and rice, slurp applesauce. 
Oliver Twist is read into my ear –
I’ve had enough of my own suffering. 

Out my window, college life continues
On the grounds of my new independence.
Backpacked figures tromp in whirligig snow,
Chasing down success, their own affliction,

Unconscious this same illness put me here,
Caused me to know confinement, chicken soup.