Tuesday, May 26, 2009

a poetry exercise

dolls likely hold hands
like eyelashes entwined

like string cheese unraveling
like a bloom of black eyes

or tulle skirts in a likable breeze,
likely free and translucent

like my first white hair:
open like a blank canvas

and bare like a newborn
to an unlikely mother

with an artist’s eye like
an outstretched hand, likely

holding a doll.

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