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.