"from the otherworld"

Tired one from the otherworld,

she carries the wind

but herself

is barely a shadow-

burgundy roses

and crumpled leaves

that she steps on

as she tries

to make her way

away

from the past

and into the promises of tomorrow,

the ones that have already been broken

yet somehow

as she steps under the shade

of the fig tree

the dark under her eyes

turns pale

and the piercing eyes

become oceans

that welcome even the ones

who treated her otherworldliness

as a nuisance,

as something to be shunned

and as something to be feared, ostracized, criticized loudly yet silently.