every day when she wakes up
she rises from the bed –
a mess of silks and heavy
swaps her matching silk for
more silk, sweeps her hair
into finery –


and does her makeup.

people pass her by in the street
scanning her outfits
(it’s a tiny village
and people talk
when they encounter eccentric)
and nodding with approval.

she resists the urge to
at the sun.

it’s a fine-tuned performance,
one created from nervousness
and every
nuance shaded to perfection.

she returns home with
knowledge; purchases; empty
hangs her jacket in the hall,
lines up shoes on the floor and performs a quick
sliding on home-shoes.

steps outside,
and howls up at the sky.


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