|By Sybil Archibald. I'm thinking I better find a publisher willing to make a full-color book!|
Plastic wrapped her from the inside,
entered as a gas and sealed her.
The home closed its doors to its bride,
repossessed the meaning of “where
the heart is.” And she might have died
on the curb but for a neighbor
whose own scarred heart bled quite enough.
After all, what’s a great room for?
“The Big One doesn’t make us tough,”
she said. “It just shakes off our pride.”
She gave her time to sleep and slough
the cellophane around her brain.
Too, there was the brother she loved
who had not made it past the strain.
On a clear afternoon, grief tore
the seal open and out she came,
shaking, wet, ready to begin.