To see another sky, another river, I
wanted to be as free as you always say that I am.
When just yesterday, a
letter stole my speech, a whisp
of the person I was moments before-- one full of
promise and expectation. I was now a
passenger whose flight was delayed. A woman
undesirably caught
between hometown comfort, and hometown purgatory in
which I couldn’t locate Hope, until you, and a
faint voice within, whispered that dreams grow with a gust,
strengthened by adversity. Of
course, the wind
still disheveled my hair, and stripped away at walls that I
built up, tactfully, for rejection. But this too will disappear,
with a greater gust, bellowing high above me, like
A robust cloud of thickening smoke.
Anna Blake
The Golden Shovel Reference
“I Try”
By the Staves
“I am a whisp of a woman, caught in a gust of wind, I disappear like smoke.”