Bomb Scare Part 2

She didn't know.
She didn't know where she was or where she was going
only that her bags were heavy, the duffle
full of shoes and an extra shirt
the backpack where she kept her socks
like a makeshift set of drawers
she had to carry everywhere she walked
waiting to dress and undress and dress
again.  The last normal thing.

But they were so heavy.

The steps were shaded, white marble turned pale, violet
gray contrasting the green of the garden
across the sea of cars, buses, and semi trucks.
Sets of orange cones dotting the roadside
like upside-down creamsicles sundaes
that reminded her of being five and free
of everything but the single summer dress falling
from her shoulders, her long hair catching the sun
and her own laughter.

She forgot the bags.

Her head in the clouds, like a butterfly following
the arm of a crane, the metallic warmth
a magnet to the eyes, the antannae unaware
of the dry atmosphere, the sirens,
or the panic of feet hitting pavement,
as judgment waits for another day
to cry out "Guilty" or "False Alarm."
A concussion of water and backed up traffic
playing to the beat of a concert in the park
a flashback of her teenaged dream.