She was never a woman to care for.
She thought she was done feeling bad.
Remembering the sun in her eyes, she resists the shade.

so when the House admitted her
she raged, she cried, she hid
in her room, crocheting, painting and re-painting
her nails a blood red.
Coat after coat, people would knock
and knock and she would sit, sit,
one loop over the other, remembering
the temper tantrums she’d had as a child,
stomping, yelling.
Knock, knock.
One loop, two, three…

01/24/2006

Posted on 01/24/2006
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