Deidre

Fever blinded her. She couldn't see flowers. Nightmares jarred her awake. Midnight overheads became sun. She couldn't breathe, eat, go outside. Windows screamed. Ice chilled her bones. She fled. There was little food. Eggs from an iron skillet, instead of vitamins. She worked. Paint, paper, pen. She walked. Colors filled her skin and her work. Marsh grasses housed pinching crab holes. She peered down and saw flowers.