The Swords of the Ancients

“She Too, Wonders Why”

Umbrellas dot the square, round tables
Surrounded by chairs beneath them.
Beers sit slowly seeping condensation
From their frosted glasses as they’re
Sipped by hipsters too poor to afford
A second and forced to make the first one
Last til last call. Soon the sun will set on
Belmar and the fountain burble will fade
Until morning.

A young girl paints pictures of the flowers.
She sells them to tourists to pay for her education.
She dreams of becoming an architect,
But when her paintings fail to sell,
She grows desperate.
She has a true talent, but it will not be
Noticed by the right people until it is
Too late.
Her body will be found in her dorm
Room bath, the final dollars in
Her checking account used to buy
Not paints but painkillers and vodka.
A tragedy, but lo and behold a collector
Comes along and buys all of
Her paintings of flowers.
The money pays for her funeral and her
Mother and father’s  growing stream of
Antidepressants.

Why didn’t she call home?
Why didn’t she reach out for help from
Her parents?

Maybe only her girlfriend knows,
But no one knows that
She even exists now. The only one
Who ever cared is being buried
A four hour flight away, and the
Family wouldn’t want
Her there anyway, and so
She sits alone in the square,
Sipping a beer from a frosted glass,
Tears slowly rolling down her cheeks
To match the condensation soaking
Her coaster.

She too, wonders why.