Dust at Dusk

the pearls on the frame dulled in the evening light

wiping the edge with her fingertip,

she flicked the particles

and they danced as they fell.

swirling and falling like she used to

in that dress she bought

a pretty penny

that’s what it cost.

stuck in the snow globe house

as fragile as the glass that held the frame

slowly going insane

ripping at the walls

like the crazy woman in that short story.

what was it called?

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She bit her nails down to the quick.

They looked like they hurt a helluva lot though she never winced.

“Get your fingers out of your mouth,” people would say.

I saw her roll her eyes

the way smokers do when told they’ll die.

She said the water stung when she dipped her hands into the sea.

“Like putting salt in a wound,” I muttered.

“Yes.” She said, “Exactly.”