Rooting Chelynne
With an eight dollar orchid, a melamine bed
the room glowing modern and Japanese red
she sleeps.
Valleys of sunsets in lieu at her feet
and a window of rice paper mute
She is the reason for structure and line
while beyond explanation there is no refute.
With a feast of a find in a pool in her mind
she is balancing purpose on pins
Blowing confetti of all that was lost
out her window, before she begins
With a handle on steel, quite contemptuously real
she taps out the room in a blink
as the eight dollar orchid redeems in a bloom
the remnants of sanctum she still has to think
And it's all at the end of the day
And it's all been a story worth telling
And she's always got something to say
And she'll be here tomorrow (God willing)...
With an eight dollar orchid, a moment alone
in a room to collapse in and finally call home,
she sleeps.
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