She loves the Lord, says the Bible
open on the desk, with highlights and scribbles
marked throughout the page.
Music is something she treasures, say the cello
resting on the floor, yet to be put away from her long practice
just minutes ago, and the earbuds hanging
from the shiny brass door knob.
She has a heart for all animals, say the dog in the grass,
with teeth as white as snow, and the adoption certifications
of endangered animals stacked neatly on her dresser.
She shares her room, say the three beds
in her room, two twin beds, and one rectangle dog bed
beside her dresser.
She is a teammate, say the collection of dusty medals
carelessly strewn on the grey chair,
some from years ago, others more recently awarded;
and an amateur photographer, says the camera
mounted in the tripod beside her bed.
She reads her books over and over again say the torn,
folded pages of her novels.
She has a steady hand, say the sketchbooks
in her room, filled to the rim with sketches and calligraphy;
and hard one, too; says the volleyball
on her desk, dirty from smudging against the ashy road.
There is a festive flare to her, say the lights
hung carefully against the wall and the miniature Christmas tree
sitting upon the hardwood floor.
She would spend hours on the court, infers the basketball
in her closet, now only to be saved for a later time.
She has an adventurous spirit, say the shoes
rusty with dried dirt, and the bike
in the carport with the muddy tires.
Her homework and papers are scattered around her room
like the shattered panes of a window after it is smashed-
a music sheet, dog training schedule, algebra homework,
a to-read list with dozens of books she desires.
She is always busy, they say.