A Better Way

“I just won’t think about it,”
she said. “It’s better that way.”
With that she stepped out.
She stepped herself over the sunset
and over every shadowed ravine
that gave the mountains their relief.
She stepped over conversations
that branched like oak trees.
“Why should I have to face it?
I will bury it like the plague.”
Already murmuring
Are the plague-ridden bodies –
Still infectious and waiting
For the unwitting shovelful
To expose them.
“I’m just going to move on.”
She moves on and up and over
And out of this world
With her face put on
And eyes ahead.