Coiled

She is a quiet girl with hair and clothes in disarray
to match her cluttered room.
She sleeps a lot,
her naked cat atop her chest
in the sweater she has knitted to cover
its shorn coat.

The two of them
sleep in their basement room,
kin to each other.
When the girl awakens,
she paints and draws
and recently,
twists wire into coils and coils
comforting in their regularity
within their wild irregularity.

She takes these straightest of things:
wires extruded mile on mile
then rounded over spools, layer on layer,
and winds them smaller,
then forms these regular coils
into spirals around a cold glass heart.

Fire shines from the coolness when brought to light,
like the girl, emerging, climbing up the steps
and opening the door.

Her hair wild around her
taken from the dreadlocks
that confined it for so long.
The girl emerging,
growing like a wild bromeliad
that gets its nourishment from air.
She breathes, she stretches
and the coils of her unwind
slowly slowly into her life.

Daily Prompt: Right to Brag. Tell us about something you (or a person close to you)
have done recently (or not so recently) that has made you really, unabashedly proud.