she gathers small bundles of lichen from the fallen branches beneath the black oaks. another storm. her storm. she doesn’t know it’ll be decades before it clears. small stones, artist conk and pinenuts in her pockets.

at the check stand. the woman is kind to her as she scans her potatoes and ground beef.

polite smile. nodding assuredly. 

you will be inspected

shackles on feet and hands

they are your adornments

you are under arrest 

it changes suddenly when the checkstand woman sees her pull out the food stamps. 

enemy

trash

good for nothing 

“rain on the tin roof is a companion.  i fly away with a murmuration of starlings.”  

pussy money is easier, she gags less giving blow jobs.