She's the Statue of Liberty

She's got herself
Laid out on the couch
Like she's part of the leather
Tanning herself
In the bay window light
Predicting her day
Will go more wrong than right

Daydreaming
About Ivan
And where he might be

She locked herself up
In a paraplegic position
Stiffening up
Planning to stay that way
Until someone taps her shoulder
And tells her it's okay

Every one who passes by her
Writes a poem about her
And sets their pen to paper
With her lashes on their mind

She can find the bad in anything
But apathy comes harder
And she barters with time
So that Friday will unwind
Rather than unfurl
While she's curled up
Next to the naked furniture

At this moment

She's the Statue of Liberty
She just has to give herself
Permission to be free