She tells us in her black dress
that she used to be a little more intense.
We rattle off our stories but the words
we say just don’t make sense.
Can you imagine what it must be like
beyond this plastic house and picket fence?
They try to tell her where she stands
regardless what she stands against.
Pacing slowly she takes a look around
the corners of the room. When out the window
was rain coming down and a larger storm
began to loom. She imagines herself
on an airplane in the middle of the day.
An open wide sky on either side,
a place with nothing more to say.
The snow gripped all the trees
on the drive home, and the brush
piles were like collections of bone.
When the rest didn’t want to press on
she made her way all on her own.

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