One step in, she knew she was in trouble.
Twigs snapped underfoot like tiny spines
and the soles of her shoes were thin.
The basket was heavy. It dug into her arm,
but she thought of the saints, how they suffered
to prove their love. I love, she thought. I am.
She sang to keep herself company
about stars and hope and fever
and her voice rang through the forest,
a sound she could almost recognize.
Tree branches seemed to reach for her,
with their long fingers and promises of sleep,
but she kept walking, toward the house,
or the image of the house recreated in her heart,
the house that she remembered, but amplified.
Her bones ached with cold
even though the cape was wool.
When she saw it, when it rose up in the clearing,
amber light glowing in the windows,
smoke puffing against the muted sky,
she almost wept with relief.
And there was her grandmother in the doorway,
leaning out for her in calico,
taller than she should be,
a little too insistent.
Of course she knew right away what had happened,
the way we all know the truth in an instant,
but she was so tired and
there was no place else to go.
Posted on 8/6/2007 7:49:44 AM
thx
sadd...
