POEMS


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Princess

A little girl up she grew
in a valley bowl of sky;
a Heidi in white snow
with grandfather and goats.

She slept beneath a cloud
of milky stars and whirled
into a Dorothy wind. Up
& up she flew

into the arms of dwarves,
into a crystal crypt
and a forest made of thorns.
She climbed a rope of hair

up to a giant's lair. Hand
in hand with Hansel, she
clicked her heels and fell.
And fell. And fell. And fell.

   

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  • Disclaimer

    Please do not assume that I am the speaker/ subject of my poems.

    In these times of creative nonfiction and fictionalized memoirs, I think of the poem itself as true fiction: it is most likely not factual, but it must be true.

    It is likely to be -- it is best if it is -- a truth I did not know before I wrote, and may not understand even then.

    A poem is my way of discovering (dis-covering) what I feel; sometimes, what I think -- but it is not necessarily biographical.


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