small girl

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]


7 thoughts on “small girl

  1. Wife and I watched a documentary on Arthur Miller (by his daughter, so the conversation was easy, candid) and he talked of art trying to carve its way to hidden truth, the inner narrative–“the closer you get, the more alive it is.” That’s what I found in this exercise: a sort of image yoga that finds an unknown shelf above the others, well out of sight. Great delicacy — the little girl, the eggshells, the dress — poised against ferocious violence — wildfire, sharp steel, even the poem’s own sharding. A fine, almost heartbreaking silence inside the howl.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I saw that special being announced, but skipped it! Anyhow, thanks for sharing that gem from it – and I think really “good” art – art that speaks and transcends just the more personal ideas, visions and intimacies, does just this.
      In relation to this exercise? I wonder, if I hadn’t mentioned or linked to the original source of the exercise, whether it would make a difference in the reading. Not that it matters, honestly – just my mind wandering.
      Thank you for sharing your thoughts – I am well pleasured (now that sounds weird) – and pleased, especially by your interpretation of the poem.


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