Moving Over Christmas Break
Brooke
February 1, 2007
2 Comments
We moved into the place next door It’s a mirror reflection of the old place The windows, the closets, the mail drop, The heat vents
We moved into the place next door It’s a mirror reflection of the old place The windows, the closets, the mail drop, The heat vents
Part one: 11 years old There is a girl. She is not real. She does not grow. She is always mourning her mother face down,
It had been wrinkled and awkward for more than eight years in the bottom of a chest. Once in a while she would peek
My yellow teacup children in an afternoon window, Their names were a favorite pastime. My Olives and Stars were put away but not as carefully
On “Flaming June” by Frederic Leighton Sleeping in a corner at noon on a bench Too small to stretch her full 5’11” Her full figure
Once, and a big fat why will pass before I am no longer my allergic me. I am the blue body, dyed the hue of
the best view of the sunset is here in the parking lot the sky a mystical light of change if I were to walk to
If I got to live in a high, high tower in a black forest and away from backyard fantasy I would have round pink walls
There were six in all: Little globe drinking glasses I bought at the thrift store Crystal and matching Each brushed with blue Close to the
at Portage Glacier Alaska was always an eternal word to me. empty, cold as an opal ocean’s surface. and dad held the world in his
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