Pilgrimage

She can’t get
Your image
Out of her pounding head
Shaking and rising from
The cold, hard chair.
I watch her as the
Scattering air, walking
Slowly.

She places a single
Foot on a single stair until her
Path calls for a turn to face
The glaring mirror


She notices
A single gleaming tear.
A tear she never felt as
It ran down her never changing
Face. Placing bother arms
Around her stomache

She continues
The painful
Journey. One foot, one stair
One thought, one tear, one
More Moment, and one more
Step

She walks
Slowly and silently
As if not to disturb the
Old north wind who binds
Her to her silence. Knowing
That waiting for her is a pencil,
A page,
And the music that dictates
her life

She endures
The knives beneath
Her feet, the bullets in her
Breath, and the noose
Tied around her neck

She arrives
In one physical piece. Soiled
By many painful
Scars

Here
Words come more
Easily than dreams and I
Watch her empty her soul
Because

She
Knows

She is not
Alone
Tonight