Helen (every time you forgot)

Helen waits for onboarding, patient, little handbag and luggage cart
golden watch on her wrist is ancient, she was never too sharp or smart
eyes are sore from the false eyelashes, lips are swollen from extra shot
Helen waits for onboarding, patient, as if time was the prize she’s got

Helen’s currency is the contacts pencilled neat in her leather book
many of are already haunted, some will never forget the look
long ago when her hair was plenty and her presence empowered men
all she ate was the pride and lentil, breaking silence each time she can

now, when someone sits down beside her, as if he was her last resort,
Helen’s instantly feeling brighter, hoping vessel will reach the port,
and repeating her lines uneven, like a beautiful broken tape,
preaching anything to believe in, building barricades to escape

Helen’s running from heat and sorrow: seven suitcases and a trunk
as if certain of nice tomorrow where nobody is getting drunk
hiding injuries under armour of pretending she’s still alright
learning lessons in staying calmer twenty minutes before the fight

down inside one of Helen’s purses lies a cross on a plastic chain
one of merciless driving forces woman never considered main
someone’s whispering in her ear, silent voice she is running from:

i’ve been near.
i have been near
every time you forgot your home.