I see her walking down the street,
Rambling on of how she has no shower now
That ‘he’ once let her use.
Carrying a metal rod I
Can only assume why
With this imagination,
That could be anything.
But that is not what matters
As I watch her walk in haste,
Down the street lit by the lamps,
So dim
And at her wits end.
Insane it seems
But I see freedom in her bones
As she breaks free
To a cycle she has yet to face.
Where will she go? I wonder.
And I envy the steps she takes.