She sat on the bed quietly reading a letter <br />Inside the room was sweaty and dark. Outside <br />it was bright and hot. Hoping it would get better <br />she read on. The birds sang a negligible reel <br /> <br />outside, while she half-listened to a flute on the radio <br />noodling through the sheaves of an accompaniment. <br />The letter never got any better. One by one, its leaves <br />slipped through her fingers onto the floor. <br /> <br />Done, she got up to go to the bathroom <br />and splash water on her face. Nice to believe <br />that what she decided was based on principle, <br />she thought, but she suspected it wasn't at all, <br /> <br />But rather on merest Need-like some old-time <br />marriages, which is a kind of principle, after all, <br />the mother of them all, the mother of all motives: <br />Maybe principle doesn't exist at all, she thought, <br /> <br />timidly, unallied to Need, as if the thought were a sin. <br />Or maybe it did. Anyway, this was not at all <br />the desired outcome, so she must flee, slip away, <br />never to be seen again.<br /><br />Morgan Michaels<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/inside-outside-6/
