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 flewinto the arms of dwarves,
into a crystal crypt
and a forest made of thorns.
She climbed a rope of hairup to a giant's lair. Hand
in hand with Hansel, she
clicked her heels and fell.
And fell. And fell. And fell.
POEMS
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MORE OF SB's POEMS
@WATERMARK |A Poet's Notebook
- 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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