the notebook

the little girl
next door, with glasses.
sits in the chair
her mother sits
in all day, and
her grandmother too.
smoking cigarettes
talking on their
phones. but the girl
is alone. the screen
door hardly blocking
the agruments from within.
she scribbles
absently in her
notebook, staring up
at the old trees,
heated and dry
from the long summer.
she follows the path
of a bird as it floats
by with barely a
movement of wing.
she is quiet, this girl,
shy and small.
but you can tell
that she has found
a place to go to,
to be safe in.