She Tells A Story
She tells a story about empty spaces,
And repeats it incessantly,
Just because she likes the way it sounds
Leaving her lips.
In the stillness of a room,
she can cause a flurry of color
by the grace of her 1940’s dress.
In her home of clean white walls
There is a corner table of hydrangeas,
The color of a winter sunset,
And she leaves fingerprints upon the edges.