by Amanda Beth Peery
In a tight skirt her breath is bounded
by zippered cloth–
sometimes ugly, Ms Green’s thoughts
flit like light on a wall through rain
and through the apple tree swaying
beyond tied curtains.
Sometimes ugly, her thoughts
pick shallowly at ideas all day
give endless minor critiques
in tiny handwriting.
What about the high ceilinged library
where she paused over the majesty of philosophy
created myths from coins and lamps
and considered the nature of night
and the way the smallest animals breathe
burrowed into the hills.
Ms Green’s ribs
expand a little,
her soft lungs fill
partially, she feels the world
come in softly
as she inhales a breeze.