Monday, April 18, 2011

Small Locket


When the locket sprung open
a delicate boned girl,
mane framing shoulders,
leaps out.
She hides a poem in a shell, lying curled
guarded, for ten years - a conch
so lonely
slicing through time.

She rattles the door
to my boat, won't even leave me in peace
for a decent hour.

Grey sky now.
Has the locket sprung open?
An alert of other forces?

Unerringly she points to questions,
that are supercilious,
about the times we should have taken.

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