Pale Transform

• Gretstar Punch
• Poetry
• 2004

She lies with her face towards the cement roof,
The metal cot beneath her reeks of sickness and disease.
She lies there staring blankly, bloodied wrists towards the sky.
Her last ray of hope seeps from her.

They caught her in the basement, knife in hand.
They saw her, bleeding into the dirty sink.
The knife fell to the floor, dripping blood.

They screamed and she cowered against the wall.
The radiator frosted the window, hiding the winter world beyond.

The nurse came and brought her to this hellhole.
She stared at the linoleum, then at the ceiling, then the wall.

She screamed; hit the walls with her fists,
The nurse stared wide-eyed, a passer-by stopped to watch.
The girl's eyes bugged out as she fell, crashing to the floor.

Dirt billows as they pour it into her grave.
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, she returns.