Agoraphobic.

The world outside is inaccessible to her-
index cards plastered onto skin with
reminders to eat, sleep, breathe,
and live secluded.

She is a hermit who used to romanticize
the horizon, until amber retreated
and she closed the blinds without
having a face to motion goodnight to.

Dahlias, with their many petals, are
bridges of love when daylight is
a traveler upon her walls;
yet she usually ends up throwing
their pots when Time settles
and sleep comes to take
everyone but her.

Her home will forever be her conservatory,
for those floors know her story and
not once require a glance from a
steaming cup of chamomile tea
to address the question,

'what are you doing here?'

She has always known that the secret
to a greenhouse is a keeper of life;
the world outside has sought out
too many ways to terminate
what humanity could ever cultivate.

-
Written for Baby Rainbow's challenge.