The house guest left a mess in the bathroom,

didn’t bring wine, critiqued the curtains,

complained about berries at breakfast

lush organic sweet berries, who can object?

I gritted my teeth as I waved goodbye,

tried hard to imagine what pain drives her from

her house to mine, from mine to the next stop,

what fuel burns inside her, stored up from the dark

places of the small town where she grew up,

the cruelty of brothers or uncles, the metallic taste of

powdered milk, the hand-me down skates,

She turns the corner and I stay there a minute,

breathing in the fumes of her exhaust.