Make your own free website on Tripod.com
PMestrus


THE DAUGHTER I DON'T HAVE

jolts up in the
middle of the night
to curl closer than
skin, pink tongued
in a flannel dress
I wore once in some
story. I part her
hair, braid her
to me as if to
keep what I can't
close, like hair
wreathes under
glass in New
England. Or maybe
pull the hair into
a twist above the
nape of her neck,
kiss what's exposed
so wildly part of
her stays with me



Female Only #6
ISSN: 1044-7490 (c) September, 1999
All rights remain with their creators

Web version designed and edited by by Haze @ UrbanDecay.Org
Print version edited by Cheryl Townsend at Implosion Press
<Back