Published on: 9/1/2015
Blush

Ten past eight, and on probation,
April races down the corridor.
Betrayed by chattering heels,
she forms another rationale,
while smells of tile and
well-worn wood tell her this
staid building stood when
leaden rules read like bricks.

Spirits of austere factory girls
shame her for being late again,
brushing past their legacy
in lengthy, woolen skirts,
leaving April longing to be
bending at the waist till her
rationales dissolve into a
sore and searing grace.