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The sun poured through the window of my attic room,
shafts of sunlight- spotlights on the wood floor;
I got out of bed to soak up the morning sunlight,
and placed my doll on the window ledge-
while I went to wash my face- comb my long dark hair,
I quickly dressed in jeans and a t-shirt . . .
I climbed down the steep stairs to the kitchen,
grandma was already asleep in her rocker- snoring;
mother put a bowl of cereal on the table and milk,
(she didn't smile- she never did anymore)
all she said to me was, "get that doll off the table!"
I quickly finished and grabbed my pink backpack,
I put doll inside and walked slowly down the street;
to the park where ducks drifted on a silent pond,
I had some bread from my supper last night.
Then, I went to the church and opened the ornate door,
going quietly past huge columns to the chapel;
I had a nickel- I had found and so I lit one small candle,
for my sister, whispering, I miss you Susie . . .
I followed a secret path in the forest to my special place,
leaning up against an old tree and taking out my doll;
my pencil, my paper and began to write but stopped-
as tears fell from my lonely eyes . . .
there is still a lot of that little girl inside me . . .
March 5, 2017
Copyright Protected, ID 882210
March 2017 Premier Contest
Sponsor, Brian Strand
Open Poetry Contest,
Charlotte Jade Puddifoot, NA
Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2017