The Things She Left Town With

She's got scissors on the table and a clock on the floor
Ten pointing at the mattress
Two pointing at the door
She's got a picture in a locket of herself at fifteen
Just one key on that same chain turning her heart green.

A room with a wall hung sink
A bag full of shoes
The things she left town with
An old toothbrush and booze.

She's got razors and journals all smooth and clean
Lined pages as empty as the sum of her dreams
She's got a hoodie for cold nights and cigarettes for food
Matchbooks from restaurants
Late night tattoos.

A phone with three numbers
One brother and home
An ex-husband who's long gone
Left her high low alone.

She's got forty-two dollars
Still owes rent for this week
Needs thirty-eight more or she's back on the street
She's got pictures from magazines folded so neat
Tucked into a Bible so no one will see.

She wears a faded black dress
Cotton barely holding on
Seams stretched and puckered
Like the inside of her arms.

A fading memory of love
Barely holding on
Scarred, bruised and tattered
Like the skin on her arms.