Ileana fascinated herself with language,
but nobody ever called her poetry hotline
so she began to practice
standing still until roots
sprouted from the souls of her feet
and anchored her to the floorboards.
Just as papery golden bark began to shroud
itself around Ileana’s delicate frame,
the phone rang.
I wrote this from a picture prompt at One Stop Poetry. Visit the link for other people’s take on the picture. This is a poem in 55 words, including the title.