The Home and the Foster

by Alexis Marie

She felt like the orange burst paint
that flaked off the walls,
or the grime off the linoleum floor
that magnetized itself on her soles;
it sparkled
like the abestos
that stumbled,
as snow drops,
on her head,
every once in a while.

She pulled the hood more secure on her head,
determined not to let the wind
waft the rain into her hair
for a second time.

(C) Marie Meyers, 2013