The Madwoman sits in silence
Her clothes are clean, shapeless. Her hair is newly washed, but disarrayed. She stares. What she sees is unimportant; her children have left her. Her family is dead. Her husband found shelter In the softness of treasure that was not hers to give. Room of silence. She is silent herself. They wander by. Staring at the clothes. The hair, The hands lying like stones in her lap. They see a chair. Occupied. The madwoman sits in silence. She is no one. She gave herself away; Gave until no one any longer Required her gifts. The madwoman sits in silence. A clean-washed glass, Waiting to slip from the shelf - Fall Shatter Cut: Blood is the stuff of life.
Thank God for trash cans.
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Sorrow -- Van Gogh |