She Never Climbs

,
Behind rice paper walls
she cries to the wind
that carries the sorrows
of the one she has lost
the one she would die for

Beneath a bright sun she
 gathers soot from fallen
 chimneys the taste on her
lips  brings back memories
of intended joy, and
 thoughts of survival.

Pieces of pitch,  still burn
in her pocket saved
for their warmth, when
loneliness turns cold,
when tears soak her rags
with dreams melting
onto calloused bare feet.

Blinding loss from a
two-way mirror, concave
to produce added pain
stands at the end of the
staircase she never climbs
It seems too easy to escape
 the comfort of her grief

Perched where blackberries
scratch her legs she sits
behind rice paper walls
watching others cry