the princess at the gas station

I wonder what she does at home

After her shift at the local QuickTrip

Making pizzas for ungrateful 16-year-old boys

And me.

Does she enter her apartment with her head down

Her cheeks hammocked toward the floor

Or is that threshold her portal?

To a world where she is a queen-

The garden grows green and lush as she steps

From the world’s door mat, down the hall,

All the while poppies and daffodils and chrysanthemums

Pop up behind her where her feet bless the soft earth.

A golden hue shoots from her chest up, to make a crown,

And then outward, outward to every corner of the room

Lighting up the ivy sneaking around the tv

And the stone table nestled among the mossy dining room

Catching all the tiny, hairy cottonwood seeds

Floating through the air

The trees shoot up tall and strong, weaving together

Buttressing above her like a great caverned cathedral

All the while small animals peep their heads out into the light

Chipmunks rush forth to her toes, squeaking their approval

That she is home, home to play

To laugh and cook and frolic with them among the flowers

Does this woman who is handing me a 16 inch cheese

Go to home to a richer forest, clean of gas and oil

Away from the chain scarfed around her shoulders

Safe from the buzzing 99 cent menu and the wall of cigarettes hanging opposite

I hope she leaves here and enters Eden

May it grow up around her and lift her chin

May rain find her and wash away the fluorescents

May life be kinder for her out there than it is in here.

Whoever she wanted to be.