In Omelas

“I cannot describe it at all. It is possible that it does not exist. But they seem to know where they are going, the ones who walk away”

-Ursula K. Guin, “The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas.” 1973.

I know the one who walked away.

points towards tumbleweed

sentinel path out of a suburban labyrinth

Was friend (?)

Two rocking chairs. One gazing porch. Stars and full moon nights, slipping through the wake

Presently, which I-5 or obsolete highway route pounding north without her license

Fact#1: People do not leave our city.

At a shopping center they had chocolate stamped green/ At a photo show they had old and young people standing in boats/ At a shipyard center/ a mother with baby dolls, clenched hands

Fact #2: The mother was aware the dolls were not her real children.

A Year Later: She put an orange slice up to her mouth, but before she could eat it

its yellow-pocketed skin, shimmering slipped out of her fingers. Juice stuck on her nails disappeared too.

I know some people say she’s another Holy Ghost in our hearts, but she can’t be- that’s what the orange did.

Another day: the bus spills gasoline by the corner-stop.