a girl likes to stay by the window
even though the glass fails
to keep the cold outside where it belongs
with the rest of the world.
sometimes she sits in grandma's mahogony rocking chair
on a cross-stiched cushion of Noah's ark.
or she remains content in her friend's wheelchair, stirring
unmelting marshmallows in cooling cocoa
while the static of the slanting rain blurs
the outside with sadness-
or is it loneliness?
when the downpour is too much to bear for a weak heart,
she doesn't bother to try and get out of bed
from under the trite flannel covers.
there's enough view,
despite the tipsy piles of textbooks on the dusty desk,
to see the naked branches, black snarls
against consistent gray.
that is enough.
and as water splats
the dark sways by wind, smearing with cloud and rain,
she falls back into sleep.