Lays out naked before her window,
tanning in an oval patch of sunlight.
She waits to golden, her skin already browned
to cardboard, speckled and stretched, her skin hanging
like the soaked bed sheet drying in the wind.
She waits in a white chair, crackling in the heat,
counting the tenants crossing the courtyard
on their way out, or in --
She waits long enough to be charred to ash,
marked by their pace, by their unnoticing,
or until some God comes down through the dust
takes her up to the sun, so she can wrap herself
full in its flames, red, silk, sheer over shoulder.
Bio: Allison Albino, graduated from Sarah Lawrence College
in Creative Writing and is currently studying for her Masters in French
Literature at NYU. She loves Chunky Monkey ice cream and the color
Contact Allison at firstname.lastname@example.org