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.”