“I am uncertain,” she said, to no one in particular
As she paced, stocking feet slapping on the hardwood floor
Eight steps to the east, turn, eight steps to the west
Head down, unfocused, arms clasped behind her back
“I don’t know how this thing works,” she sighed
Stopping, an uneven stance, her hand at her chin
She doesn’t notice as the world tilts, lost in thought as
The floor turns upside down and when the air around her
Shimmers, the small pinkness, winged, darts to and fro
As if to be noticed, up, down, in front, behind
She resumes her pacing and it follows doggedly, as she
Lapses into rumination, “Is it supposed to be this hard?”
She wonders, then, “Can it really be that easy?” And
It buzzes like a whisper in her ear, and deftly
She brushes it away, the faint echo of words
“Je ne sais pas,” and chills run up her spine as she
Senses the empty space in her chest where it is strangely
Vague and she wonders why, in spite of everything
This is all she feels and it all seems upside down.
