Even before growing taller than windows

she knew of a world beyond.

A sea of touch-me-nots bloomed into the January sun

for her to climb up a ladder of promises that leaned across

the window panes.

She gazed into her freedom,the little girl now a tourist.

Her body, a carnival; her heart, a biker in the globe of death,

Her thoughts, a trapeze artist.

On a night set atop an unholy day,

the ropes of freedom tightened.

She snaked down the trapeze in a great fall

her fingers hissing into the tongues of gossip interludes.