after years measured in either sabbaticals or fists

The woman in the box 

Realizes she has only been an apparition 

Sorting through previous 

Versions of “her”

She sees one to nurture– 

No lines around the eyes or heart

An ordinary girl

Who believed in human intervention

Fragile thing, scoops her up

Just a bird in the hand;

Looks for a place to set her down

If only to assess 

the utility of wings