When the clock strikes midnight,
will she vanish out of sight,
a squashed pumpkin,
a shattered glass slipper,
a homeless, friendless Cinderella?
Cloaked in the nightclub’s anonymity,
dancing in the dark, caressed by strobe lights,
she relished her invisibility,
touched someone else’s damp skin,
caught a glimpse of other people’s lives.
But outside, on the damp street,
without the comfort of sheets and pillows,
she merges into the invisible world
of cardboard boxes, doorways, and shadows.
Kim M. Russell, 14th April 2020
On this date in 2017, Marian asked us to muse on invisibility: what does it feel like, who or what is it, would it be a cool superpower?
I’m merging this prompt with Kerry’s Skylover Wordlist, sourced from Dylan Thomas’s poetry collection Deaths and Entrances, from which the fourteenth word is ‘strike’.