The Gypsum Fair

The weeds bend west; Lizzie’s barefoot, walkin slowly ‘cross her bedroom floor.
Her thirty years and all she counted on fall like dust on her slatted blinds.
She takes the barrette from her hair, drapes her dress across the chair.
She’ll act her age, be Daddy’s girl, one last time.

With the window wide she hears all the lonely sigh. She puts on Patsy Cline and starts to cry.
The things she pawned, the wild wreckage spared, to live a life her mother recognized.
She feels the air warm on her skin, holds her shoulders so bone thin.
Without a sound lets it begin; this is how it goes.

She can ride High Banks Road in the pitch black air; she can dance all night at the Gypsum Fair.
She can change her clothes, change her hair, now that love won’t make her safe.

She hears her name whispered on the summer wind, sees a time to begin again.
She takes the car keys from the hook, wastes her time with one last look.
Turns the wheel toward Hammell Beach…this is how it goes.

She can ride High Banks Road in the pitch black air; she can dance all night at the Gypsum Fair.
She can change her clothes, change her hair, now that love won’t make her safe.