like a second-hand
book
found trampled
on the floor
at an estate sale
her pages
are folded back
upon themselves
over and over
like so many
origami birds
without flight
without life
words trapped
inside the creases
and folds
her clumsy hands
made
trying to shape
a sanctuary
refuge somehow
turned to jail
home-made solitary
confinement with
no escape
no parole
crumpled paper birds
crushed against the bars...
* * * * * * *
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
I like this one. Thanks for finding my blog, and leading me here to yours.
ReplyDeleteOoooooh--so nice! I read it over 6 or 7 times (so far).
ReplyDelete