she won’t leave the room with the weeping walls
dark gandhi on his knees in an icy shard of light
the hippie bus broken down in the dawn yard

she feels like 12 grain bread dough
tipsy on leavening
sacrificial wine
beaten down and rising
beaten down and rising
sequestered in the solitary airless dark

the rosewater hymns rock across the trenches of her memory
the paint stained fir holds steady thru the hearse of winter
her tears, when they come,
are a glacial melt
a swan floating in the rippling of her silent heart

finally, she comes out

she wonders —
is this the chrystal
calm before the chatterbrain nuclear storm?

her knees in spring mud
she plants her worry stone
where it will never grow
covered tombstone of winters past

wendy shaffer

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