The Pale Lady

Over the years, I’ve come to enjoy sonnets. Being a long-standing form of poetry, some might find sonnets dull and played out. I would’ve included myself in that crowd at one time. But as I’ve tried my hand at sonnets, I’ve found I like wrestling an idea into the restrictive rhyme and meter. The brevity of the sonnet can also present a challenge, but it is a welcome one as I prefer short poems.

“The Pale Lady” is a sonnet that will be in my fourth book, The Anonymity of Waiting, which I aim to self-publish in 2024. It is a brief narrative about someone whose identity might surprise the reader. Comment below if you have any guesses about who she is.

The Pale Lady

I glance outside my front room window as
I head to bed, when something makes me pause:
a face adrift in the dark that glows with the wan
ghost of light shining from a place beyond
my view.  I watch her moving through the night
like a balloon without a breeze, alone
except for distant stars and my secret
company.  Just about a month ago
I saw her near my house.  The hue of her skin
was just as pale, but she was not as thin
as now.  What wasting grief or care consumes
her from within?  The night is a vacuum
of empty streets and dark windows.  I go
to bed and leave the moon to wane alone.