Sara glides onto the stage,
flower tucked behind her right ear.
You'd never guess she was forty
but her birthday was yesterday.
Her run in the play has ended.
She'd like to go back
to the beginning and start over but
the audiences want brighter eyes for the role.
The male lead still makes her shiver;
his hands turned the sky purple.
Her replacement has already
caught his eye, though,
and Sara's blank dance card sighs
from its drawer.
She bows, blows kisses into the darkness,
calls last farewell to the crowd.
She'll go out like Garbo
or Hepburn. Not like Blanche,
crying over some man's torn shirt.
(this is a slight revision of a couple of lines)
'Poetry month' has officially ended. While I didn't write a poem a day, I did write quite a few and some might make it into my queue for submission later. I used the prompts posted on Poetic Asides, a site run by Robert Brewer.Thanks, Robert, for your dedication in doing this.The prompt for the last day was Farewell, so the above poem comes from it.