"When I look up, I just trip over things." Ani DiFranco
Hey, Little Girl
Years ago there were butterflies
pinned beneath the smoked glass of
wings of light and paper
stitched together with dental floss.
Lillies fell from
your torn shirt pocket and
trailed your footsteps.
You were pliable,
no more solid than a snowflake.
Tonight your lashes are still cocoons
resting before round three.
All jelly and pink pastries
underneath rock solid resolve.
Your flowers grow from limestone now--
no more sick pansies
in over-tended beds
watered with self-doubt.
The light doesn't shine through
fragile wings anymore;
You spew sunlight
from your lips.
- Kristyn Sherman
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