Summer 2006 Poetry Competition First Prize
believes it was her eighth escape cup
fruit punch that tripped her tipsily
the rabbit hole, into her present
home. Fate chose not to break
ankles and, since that mad midnight
she has turned her back on
people and all the depressed,
to live alone. Solitary,
not confined; her mind as free to wander
the unconstrained birds that breeze
her open window, above the sunlit waves.
is how it was meant to be," she shines
her cliff-bound residency. "I am the great
How the newspapers must have gone
Perhaps they think I fell into
sea? Not everyday the keeper of others'
flips her shaken mind, and throws
to the keys of the sanatorium.
never knew I could thrive as a recluse,"
marvels as she cooks gulls' eggs on a fire
crackling broom. "In another age they'd
burned me at the stake for witchery.
only if they'd managed to find me..."
©2006 Carol Wolrich
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