Frances

She cannot walk

from

parking garage to whirling world.

She freezes on cement incline,

sliver of a hill.

“Cheryl, can you get me home?”

No pain

but fear of it

collapsing her heart

clogged by calsified rock.

 

This is the solution:

that is the requirement:

that all pain has a name,

that all people have a first and a last,

that all misery has an end.

 

Memory cannot be destroyed,

is not a shtick,

is not forbidden fruit.

Paradise is tomorrow.