She was a young somber thing
She pressed her ear to the clockworks
Stared at her mother, the goat-girl
She cherished the holiness of marbles
The sad sanctity of a broken crayon
She rolled the street, bottom-down
On a skateboard, slowly
Her hair tickled her chin and her eyes
She trusted mice about everything
Her feet were once mistaken for oysters
In their half-shelled elegance
Delicate curvature and pearled toes
Her heart was devoted to a story
Where a princess fell from a tower
Turned to a white dove and flew
Cooing off to the horizon
She told it, she sang it, she cried
Her mother bleated and shrugged
And pedestrians all looked away
Goodbye, crazy girl, you are young
You are older than me, goodbye.
(c) Tasha Chinnock 2006
1 comment:
This poem has a story behind it, underlying it that I would love to know. I feel like I have known this girl, have been her, should know why it is all so familiar. I am really touched.
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