She’s sitting br cross-legged on the floor br plucking the fluff br from a deep pile carpet br too preoccupied with sadness br to find the time br for body language br for me to read br br Her hair hangs in loosened ribbons br hiding the frame of her face br as her fingers drag her nails br across the grain br br and my emotions br br and I can’t reach her br through the noise br of all these thoughts br because someone’s tied my hands br behind my guiltbr br Sheila Knowlesbr br