Her thin boned feet
Sprawled out across the dregs
Her knees were impaired
For they had aged
Just like the crinkles in her
Coat pockets tissue

They were coffee flushed
With wide, grey indents
And
Deep creased of matured, flakey skin

Her feet were swelled
And her ankles showed
Remains of the flames
She had once handled

Her eyes…
Were
Deep and
Dark
Which carried
deep black bags underneath each

Lily sat beside her,
Underneath the sun
Absorbing its rays
Her stomach screamed for food,
Although she could not be fed tonight
For tonight was only June 6th,
And she had eaten yesterday
For the first time
In weeks

Her pink body was restless and
Her feet had
Cracks with pebbles stuck in between
All the crevices in her hooves.

Isabella sat underneath the molded
Back tree,
And looked beyond the green pasture
ahead of her

Her ancient tartan skirt intertwined
Under both her legs,
Like a picnic blanket among the earths soil

She was dirty,
Filthy actually
But there was no where
Or no one
To go
To

Now, as the sun diminished silently
And evenined arrived
As if did each day,
She remained under her pine tree

Lily,
Rapped herself in a ball,
And squished underneath
Her arms

She couldn’t
Just couldn’t
Sustain the heat any longer
Drops of sweat rained for hours more,
Longing for the drought
To come to an end

She would wipe
Her forehead
With her apologetic sleeve
That was there,
And took out the callous notebook
That had been lying
Inside the knot hole just above
Her head

Her eyes were so glassy
And too weak
To function
Yet the pen…
It strived for perfection,
Once again.

Her hair grew frizzy
And slept warm
Cuddling on top her forehead
Her shirt collar wilted,
Like it had every evening,
Ever since the day after the fire

A quick jolt ruffled the branches
Above
The leaves rustled
The wind screamed
Isabellas tired circles eyes
Pondered upward
Where she found a man
Climbing out of the tree house
Above

He was a potatoe of a man
Like a shaggy mountain,
Standing tall among
Two tree branches…

“Is Eliz, I’ve come home…”