Her

By Hannah Brown, TIWP student
No one sees her.
That girl in the corner.
The one sipping her tea
With a strand of hair
Trapped between her lips,
Is exploring new galaxies within a book.
One placed on the table in the corner.
Her index finger lightly rests
On the words she reads,
As her mouth softly shapes
The sounds.
No one knows
The way she stares at her ceiling,
Wishing it was filled with stars
To bear witness to her tears.
And not painted yellow
But black,
So she could be sucked into
An abyss filled with dreams each night
When she lays her head down.
They way she wraps
A blanket around the back of her head
Around her ears.
To drown out the sound of crickets
Because
They’re saying too much.
Screaming that there’s a galaxy here.
One with stormy seas
To match
The waves in her eyes.
And stars made for wishing.
Whispering please
With ties sunk deep in sand,
And cold air kissing the freckles
That grace her cheeks.
Apple red not from the heat of her tea,
But of that moment.
The one where her eyes rose
From the pages
To meet the accusing gaze of the clock
At half past nine.
Her neck aching
Her mind heavy with a new life.
One lived on that stool
While the world continued
To scream,
And she wasn’t there
To endure it.

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