Opera

By Rochelle Breen

She goes to the opera with her hair hung down

She wears smiles to funerals instead of black gowns

No empty frowns…

And the nights are long, in a sweet-pleasure way

Instead of a heart that beats only pain

Her pillows are laced with a strawberry scent

Her blankets, they smell of vanilla so fine

And the sheets beckon rest as well as long nights

When the guest in question seems to be kind

Because she leaves the drama at the opera

And the grief to the funeral home

Brings a little peace or hope to both

When nothing's set in stone

And you'll love her, I tell you,

Love her

Imagine, like no other

When psychotic doesn't touch it

The way purity sure does…

For all it's worth

And all it was

All it can ever be

A flower in a barren field

An island amidst the sea

She goes to the opera with her hair hung down

She wears smiles to funerals instead of frowns