The little bed shifts and jeers
(its worn quilt top sings out “Woah Nellie!”).
Away from the walls it careens
(heat rises from within – the sheets singe and smoke).
The dust bunnies under go bottoms up – thumping fiercely
(the same space where the young girl closed her eyes and covered her ears).
The floor buckles, kicking off dull varnish, popping out nails,
as the room spins – its blue walls open – becoming sky.
She is projected up and out – buoyant – wildly happy,
weighted by the angel who holds her but simultaneously
light and free as one perfect exhale.
The howls from the hall of forty years past
are drowned out by her cries of joy.
a triumph as
She comes true.