she is nothing.

the walk back was as similar as the back of her hand that she sees when scrubbing the dishes. nothing new, the same old twists and curves. the sky is pregnant and waits for the water to break.

she is moving.

the journey forward was neither contemplative or anger. it was blank. the sharpening of the blade bade her closer than the squawk of the hen that was destined for it. if only it were that easy then the most painful of decisions would never have to be thought of.

betrayal.

never. for what comes to you has been brought on by you. then why is it still prickly in the gut. why is it still hard to absorb.

faith.

that which you lose as you grow closer and closer to that which you believe in

lust

a poor mind's companion , a rich one's nemesis.

work

evasion and beyond

when most of the path has been traverses, she sees a flattened corpse of a rat. she stops to examine it. looking closer it resembles more a vermin that in life. perhaps that reminds her of something.

she saw a crematorium while reaching the road. men in casual manner resting their legs on the platform whereas the body which was to be there lay still in the ambulance. the whole nonchalance of it does not astonish her, in fact she seems to understand.

once the soul leaves the body is but a reference. reverence ends with life.


she has to cross a strip of land. the two roosters, proud and black, stare down the wall. she wishes to see the raven that greeted her at morning and wring its neck, but then she realizes that she must pretend violence is of no good to anyone. she misses the buffalo and the joy that an expecting sky brings.

she ends her journey, the feet are cracked, blood stains her strappings but the pain is just a welcome relief .

when a tree is of no necessity, it is removed and space is used.
when a water body is of no use, it is filled and reborn a land
when a horse is of no use, it is put to sleep and the vacant stable is called by another home.

she is still a nothing.