A runner sits on the hospital’s garden bench,
And hears a woman battling off the hospital staff,
‘Not again,’ ‘Get off!’
All the yelling was coming from the top floor mental health ward.
The runner stayed vicariously fighting restraints nonexistent to her.
A butterfly stood next to her,
Practicing the art of minding its own business,
Flapping about for seemingly the first time.
…
…
She wished she could grow roots where her feet were resting.
A nymph turned herself into a tree once.
What type of plant would she be?
But in thinking all this, the moment was gone.
The screaming had long stopped, and the butterfly flew its course.
ʚїɞ
‘I have places to be.’
She runs.
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