she tiptoes, graceful steps, no sound when her feet touch the ground -- like her feet are feathers and she’s the bird, tied down she tiptoes every movement of hers is subtle and subdued and almost slow for no reason but to be quiet – ah, there it is she did it wrong she apologizes but—it’s never okay there is a circle around her wrist, it’s a bracelet of distrust, discolored and discernible too much so maybe and she tiptoes arched up like she’s taking flight but then she never does black markings on her arm like a collar; holding her back holding her down or maybe just holding her -- in place, unmoving and unchanging away from the torrent of time or right in there, aging her fast and soon she’ll be unable to fly she tiptoes