A small girl in pink gingham check cried as I wrote a poem
on the inside of egg shells.
Wildfires burned a hole in a thrift store dress; it was pinned
to the poem of the small girl.
The flaming checks of the crimson-yellow sunset were flecked with red
specks of sharded glass, the wallpaper of my closed eyes.
And the small, lost girl cried
as a reckless surgeon fingered his silver-sharp scalpel,
set to incise a wound,
poemed on the inside of egg shells.
My wildfire eyes burning, behind these paper white
shells, as the small girl held, cupped in her hands,
the bright yellow yolks.
And I cried.
“small girl “
© P.A. Kynda Palazy.
All rights reserved. 2018 –
⦁ for : Quickly’s dreams in my Maidenform bra
[follow link to figure how we come to be here]
and for: Real Toads : Bits of Inspiration ~ Doppleganger
[Susie is the host & asks us to explore the idea of meeting our Doppleganger; and I think this was in my subconscious as I was working Quickly’s ideas]