she stood at her front opened door. 

it led to her also front porch. the one made for swinging and lying down. 

waiting for the cosmos to fill in the blanks.

and from the big open canvas of …

:sigh: it was just the GRAYEST mid day she’d seen in her life. 

but it allowed for a need ( deep as a canyon) 

to let down her hair.

to let loose her wound tight insides and listen from the core of her ear lobes where the waters lie. 

she loved and cared most for those waters- they’re wombs for all the blinking and light gathering up and into her arms and lifted dress. 

the breathing, close-knit, spacey distance of right where she needs most to exist-

that lifted air space where her mama speaks just long enough.. 

into just the part of her headspace that gets cramped by a certain damned boulder- lodged with such stubborn size. obnoxiously present. 

the boulder’s not pretty or grand. 

it’s deafening. 

and her mama’s tone of voice and her hero-brother’s lanky spirit-filled frame unhinges all the angst 

into the wind

from the horse’s mane in the movies.