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