Site icon Margaret Coombs

Seventeen Poems, Almost There

Public domain illustration from Barrie, J.J. Peter and Wendy ; Margaret Ogilvy. New York, Scribner, 1912. Accessed from Internet Archive Book Images

What else can I say?

Polished, perfected, they are dead. Not dead like a shell or a stone, an object desirable enough to grasp and carry home, fascinating in your hand. 
No, more like a fish dead on the beach. Silvery and dehydrated. They simply accumulate. 
What do I do with it? With one of them? With seventeen? 
I look. Change line endings, take away a phrase, add it back. 
Give me some of that fairy dust, Tinkerbelle. Because I believe in this poem. And the rest of them, too. 
They want to fly.
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