BASTILLE

she was tender
just under
the skin
and had been
wounded
and disrespected
and, she thought,
discarded
and so she
built her fortress
of residue
gathered
from yard sales
and thrift shops
and trash piles
and each thing
she told herself
had purpose
and value
and meaning

and she gradually
stacked it
floor
to ceiling
and layered it
thick along the walls
that she might
insulate herself
from hurt
though bad news crept in
through the phone
and television
and those things, too,
she buried,
burrowing
ever deeper
into her bed
of garbage,
isolated and
finally
absolutely
safe