Gathering the Wind-Scattered Pages of Myself

When you come in

You must not find a

Dejected figure lying curled up

On her bed,

The pillow tight in her arms

You must not discover

pages glittering with moments of unshed tears

and haphazard memories

crumbled into paper balls

meant for the wastepaper basket.

You must not see the hand that held the pen


So ready to sweep the clutter off

Her desk

And that the person behind the picture


Is using every bit of control left

Not to throw open

The windows in her eyes

And jump out

To tumble in the soft grass

beneath her feet.

7th. June 2003

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