This Girl.

Oh, I understand why a blonde mother
of two would stick their pretty little heads in the oven
and how one could fill her pockets with the
heaviest stones she could find, marching
stoically into a raging sea.

I wish I had the nerve to sail
to Brazil and live amongst the natives
draped in color and the golden sun
simply on a whim.

But this girl, oh she can't move.
She's paralyzed, her spinal cord
stolen, leaving her to dream
of the living and dying,
an immobilizing paradox.

She sees and hears it all,
watching with green eyes that are invisible
to ones threadbare and unclothed.