she sits in the closet,
doors wide open—
looking at the chessboard
in the middle of hers
in squares,
everything is strict-fixed, one by one
repeating its patterns,
it breeds more rooms—similar, smaller
counting its daughters,
she lives for ages in squares
knowing it never ends,
she says:
“one, two, one, two, one, two, one, two, one, two, one—”
she pretends
her life is well-chessboarded