this poem is typing herself
into a state of
…………..(Nevada, Texas, Idaho)
mind.
she’s left behind
her fury
and her furry bunny
slippers. sip her
slowly, and you’ll see;
she’s full of grace
and glee and a wee
bit of powdered sugar
glaze. she’s been folding
the map for days and days
and don’t you see? we
all can be
together somewhere
in this middle place.
she’s facing that yellow-dotted
road rage fear, the years she
spent in silence. she’s racing
the clock, her pulse
and praising the fact that
the answer to
are we there yet
is yet
no.
she’s got some
-one to be,
someplace to
go. this place to start.
later, she’ll
be
just a bloody, pulpy
mess
of beating
hearts.
..
In April, we poem.
Whimsygizmo's Blog 
Oooh, I love this. You are so talented, de.