Inside her life

Sky blue curtains
Hung in the white, sterile room
Devoid of life
Save her facsimile

Wooden floors
Creak barely
And squeak
In a vacuum

No hook for a hat
No portraits
On the wall
She knocked
It be hollow, empty
Echoing

She turned
Walking neither silently
Nor with impetus
Away from the window
Now open
Soft drafts blow
Warmth like thick blankets
Torn into pieces
Wafts slowly
Dislodging the stuffiness
The stifling
With reverent silence
And lack of fan fare

Alone she twirled
Arms extended and light
In the yellow pink dress
Barefooted
Toe extended
Tapping the hollow floor
Lightly, delicately
As if it would break
And the floor show remorse
Regret and blame

Carefree, unencumbered
Sight unseen
Yet thoroughly believed
She was one
She was happy
Grace smiled
And fate bade away