It's Still Life

A Tale But Not One for Telling

whispering children say
she lives

at the end of a man-wide path,

sparks climbing
from hearth to sky,
a cat humming in its sleep

and the air about her
smells of petrichor

they say
her shadow bends wrong

like a little old man
who knows a tune

that small stars follow

Written for Writers’ Digest Poem-a-Day Challenge for April 2026. Prompt word: blank but blank