The Woman Who Rode Away

A poem

Photo by Kitera Dent on Unsplash

For years, small pencils kept note

of all her mistakes

on the backs of old envelopes.

Too sweet champagne toasted

her successes, but never

to the point of inebriation.

Day followed day followed day

and Saturdays were no different

from Wednesdays.

Leaves fell and the sky lightened

but only on the outside.

The woman who rode away was escaping,

her loose white dress and long hair

rippled in the wind

and her eyes shone with

the freedom of the night.

She found a mountain

which could be climbed forever,

tall pines shed their needles

into deep beds

where she lay and dreamed

and the white dress

grew stark against the green.

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