Of the Freedom that comes in the morning

Im not sure she understood
as the little kitchen
puffed out smoke thick
and rife with mourning.
breakfast, after all
had to be made
the barn animals
had to be fed
life would creak
and groan
despairingly onward
faster than her
heavy eye lids
wrought with tears
the sadness
heart full and fissured
leaking would
wash the barricades
away…im not sure she
understood
as she stood there
that fabric tears
when cut
that bacon
in simmering pan
will crisp, black and charred
that when the front
door is once again
opened the old chapter
torn, tattered and desolate
would cease to be
that she would finally
be free…
but I dont think she
understood.