Escape (iii)

And she flew away on borrowed wings.

Every time she checked
(trying to be as unobtrusive as possible),
the ribbons of self-reproach had again become entangled,
tripping up her feet and twisting amongst her heartstrings.

Each time, she quickly snatched up the errant threads,
tore them from their new moorings,
and buried them under future details.

From her satchel, she retrieved a book
with an unadorned cover of soft brown leather
and a delicate ribbon of red silk to mark her page.
She reached into her pocket for the weighted fountain pen
that perfectly fit her grasp.

She opened to the first page
and began to write.

For a day and a night and yet another day
the words poured from her pen,
like drops of blood from her fingertips.

DLD/03JUL07