(In just the past two weeks the poet has been driven from under three trees — once by a stalker, once by an influx of alcoholics, and today by a man who, brought near by the jealous friend of an ex-partner, insists on walking toward her rapidly, closer each time, talking to himself, and carrying a pair of large scissors.
Soon she will be driven far enough not to be able to carry her bags back in for food and water.
Starvation holds no fears for her — she’s gone past the last hunger pang by several days before now. If she could only carry enough water to last two weeks or so, how peaceful it would indeed be for her to sit quietly and in dignity for the angels to come take her to a place where priorities, like her own throughout this life, are nonharming and peace between souls.)
*****
Anywhere
She goes,
They come.
*****
The poet/editor of this website is physically disabled, and lives at a fraction of her nation’s poverty level. Contributions may be made at:https://www.gofundme.com/are-you-a-patron-of-the-arts
