Part 1: Asking for Help

Bent over, on her knees, her hands tightly clasped, her body shaking,

head bowed she gasps for air – trying to breathe, yet unable to speak.

She begins to wrestle herself –

Her body contorts into unknown shapes, her voice is unfamiliar to her…

breathe, she tells her ragged soul until she can no longer move.

Battling in silence –

The house remembers her voice can crescendo into an unrecognizable monstrous pitch. Pacing the bare space she’s a wild animal spitting empty phrases into harsh air.

Her face morphs….weathered, wrinkled, worn.

Staring into broken glass she no longer sees the contour lines that once revealed pieces of her history.

She’s an undefined line, curving, not always connecting to solid surfaces as she goes off on tangents as her thoughts explode into tiny pieces of unseen particle.

Constance Strickland