with coffee cup, she sits with her hands
tucked beneath her, trash TV and a cradle of milk.
Nothing speaks.
Gold or ochre? The walls peel
from fifty years ago. She feels bad she gave away her Grandpa's armchair,
especially since
she never met him.
When she does not sleep
eyes mince and redden.
Bronze canopy
prepares her dream.
When the midnight bell climbs
up
into her bed
she sets sail
to a place you share.
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