Whiteness of Isolation
She dropped the gallon of milk.
The carton exploded as it made contact with the wooden floor.
She stood there, staring blankly, at the white flood.
The ink on the map started to bleed,
distinct places blurred into a homogenous wasteland.
She had no concept of geography.
The pain of loneliness made roads go on forever.
They connect one undistinguishable town to the next.
The rhythm of the droplets of milk
hitting the floor in the basement as it seeped
through the floorboards picked up pace.