by jaclyn lansbery
Walking out, foot after clumped foot, the shouts decrease.
The disciplined woman in the kitchen makes ice tea, and smiles at absence itself.
You donâ€™t know
But the dust chasing after you has left a fog of beige clouds;
The woman knows how to sweep it back under the rug
Faster then youâ€™ve entailed to create it.
Bless your safety;
Through absence, weâ€™ve hidden anything red for next time.