somewhere in st. louis

somewhere in st. louis
she's sleeping or walking,
or getting hit by a car.
she might be
in her house, at the table
writing
a poem that she might send
me one day.
somewhere in st. louis
she's dealing with an ex husband,
her daughter,
her work.
old boyfriends, and new ones.
somewhere in st. louis
she gets tired and lies
down, stretching her long
legs out,
staring at the water stain
in the ceiling
that the workers could never
quite fix.