a green pea

She was alive
in an elegant and secluded
hotel around the corner from
a famous church
whose name I have never known.
how she got there,
i can not guess and won't begin to try.
instead of hiding in her cozy home
and sewing throughout the day,
she unnerved friends with her untimely disappearance,
leaving no word or written explanation to
satisfy those curious few.
at first, i accepted her absence as a rumor;
however, the more obsessed among us believed she fell ill and
some even said she might be dead,
her head shrunk to the size of a green pea,
breasts flat against the wooden floor,
tiny mouth agape and lovely teeth already loose.
i went to investigate and made the trip in several
slow minutes, but she was not home, nor were there
any stray cats about or any peculiar odors to notice.
in one room, i saw new drawings and was surprised
by their highly finished aspect.
mostly, i realized, i didn't know that she knew how to draw.
her mother, who had not seen her for thirty four years,
was the owner of the hotel where my reclusive, once missing
and thought ill or dead neighbor
was now staying.
that was the latest rumor, at least as current as this afternoon,
and i, like a bloodhound on her scent, went to find her.
at the hotel, when i dashed up to the front desk and made inquiries,
a polished young man told me it was closed because
a convention was being held and all the rooms were
now filled with important monuments.
at least, that was the latest rumor.