you, crying girl,
with fragile wrists and eyes turned the color of roses,
folded to the table,
crooked like a tree in winter,
you work so hard
and look so proud and burn so bright
and you've withstood blizzards and hurricanes,
not bending and not breaking,
but when the earthquake comes
it rips up your roots and leaves you strewn and gasping.
always reminded that you must grow up.
always afraid of the fall — the taller you get
how the safety of the earth
keeps getting further and further away.
3 comments:
how true this seems.
that's not really what i meant. i was more going for: ho hum, ma vie, the poem - it works. etc.
this is really pretty.
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