She Died

She died

when she was twenty-two

Inside a room

made of plastic beads.

She slides the beads

along their strings

In order to form

windows that show

Oceans of steel and cotton linens.

At night shapes appear

in conglomerated shades

That look like faces

she knew at some point

With smiling lips.

The day the first string broke

felt like the rest.

Her feet looked like prisms

through clear color beads

Up to her pale ankles.

One, then another, they broke

like soldiers running from the enemy

Until they covered her completely.

Up, up, up;

she sank

Until her eyes could only see

a beadless room dirty in

Colors beyond any imaginable

bathing all corners and cracks.

The front door

now sitting at about her mid-section

Could no longer hold back any colors,

any beads.

They poured down the soupy grass

into the sea

And no girl remained.