We Know Not To Where She Runs Only That She Is Gone

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Her feet beat against the grass

Her eyes riveted to the side

She dodged a man smoking a pipe

And a breeze of freckled flies


The music swelled under her breast

Her china bones were at their best

And no one would have guessed

That she had just confessed


The priest all dressed in white

Told her to run away

And that's why she was sleeping

In a barnyard full of hay


Her hands were full of love

Her ribs bore crimson blood

The chicken clucked and pecked her neck

The rain that fell was sweet and wet


She tried to run

And then succeeded

Her flowers cried

When she was needed

But she was gone

With a puff of smoke

And a stifled yawn

And a strangled choke


To where she runs, we do not know

Good bye little girl

We wish you luck

Now twirl your curl

And run amok





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Mariam.J said...
Jul. 8, 2011 at 2:35 am

I like the continuity oft he poem but I'm not really sure what exactly it means.

Sorry if I sound dumb here but.. What exactly is she running from?

 

 
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