Standing, late one
afternoon, wine glass
in hand, at her wide
window, she performs
her introspection
of the street below.

"I don`t mind. I don`t
mind. You have to
stop minding. You
have to stop trying
to save them when
all they want is to
simply step over the
edge and fall away...
to drift downward
and away, to let go
of everything solid,
to obey the weighty
law of gravity and fall
away and so why do I
mind so much when all
I`m doing is trying to
climb this mountain
and have a wider view
someday but they just
laugh and joke and try
to trip me and poke
their ridiculing fingers
at me before they all
fall away because they
think they can fly but
they can`t and I really
do have to try to stop
minding."

She wipes a single
tear, sadly sips the
wine, and stares
intently ahead now
because among the
long shadows down
on the street she
sees a swat-team,
strangely silent,
heavily armed,
numerous and
anonymous in their
black body-armour,
swiftly converging
on the pretty little
house on the other
side of the street.

And she stands,
looking downward
through glass,
inside her window,
like an A-list
movie star
who has no
gestures left.

12/18/2015