15


A zephyr billowed

faded gray curtains

as dust motes danced

with the sunlight

in the haphazard room.

The unmade bed

of little concern

as her thigh twitched uncontrollably

her young heart pressing against the wall of her chest

sure she might die with anticipation

when wafts of confederate jasmine

came streaming through the old jalousie windows

and stole her attention,

distracted her from her spastic loins

gave her something to focus on.

It reminded her of home

the place she both loved and loathed,

the place that had led her here.

CRR 4-6-16

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This entry was posted in adolescence, childhood, life, poetry, Uncategorized and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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