Sandfort Road

No warmth for her on this
hot humid southern day

Only cold fear

Purpled eyes
back and forth
not understanding  the gazes
from travelers who see her

Her swollen lips
speak hurriedly
but nothing is heard,
the words carried away
in the sudden burst of wind
from a cloudless sky

She walks haphazardly
along the unsidewalked shoulder

She should not be here
where there is no guidance
to her destination

Shivering arms laden with pocketbooks
(seven cheap pocketbooks)
is all she can manage to carry
in which to pack the life she
must have to survive
away from the script
that has been her dialogue until now

About justbrinkley

poetry, flash fiction, prompts from a southern granny who should have been a writer.
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