#113 – Woman Forty


She is climbing the walls on the third floor,

alone in a room filled with people.


She has paused in her self-imposed strain.


She is upside-down

observing the room with closed eyes and soft breath.

She smells jasmine tea and exertion.


In slow motion, four fingernails dig into the plaster wall,

painted infirmary green.

With resistance, her forearm pushes the thick air away while

her fingers blossom open from her dry palm.


(A time-lapse film of a cabbage rose blooming into a

delicate pale pink sphere.)


She remains low and quiet while

an un-choreographed dance releases,

surrounds her.


Without moving, she floats out the window.

A crisp blue wind blows over her faint body and

carries her away.


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