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  • Writer's pictureHillora Lang


From a small self-published book of poems written during my time in college, here is one about a girl I wish I could have been:


With a trailing hem of Valencienes lace

safety-pinned upon her ruffled skirt,

Kelsey dances among the willow trees

at the bottom of the garden.

She sings falsetto, See me,

See me not, jingling necklaces

of silver bells, sea glass, and

fallen stars draped in heaps

against her slender neck.

Her old boots with holes

in the soles lie discarded,

home to infant mice

beside the quiet stream.

Hear me, Hear me not,

sparrow feathers and spiderwebs

her tiara, precious gems

in moonlight. Kelsey reaches

for the bitter stars, and they come,

the fairfolk, to dance with her.

She feels the chill emptiness

within their green eyes

and silk, Touch me, Touch me

not, red curls flying in the dance.

Kelsey wears a quilt of satin patches

for her shawl, the names

of the gods embroidered

across the blue squares,

and the goddesses

upon the lavender-mint.

Speak of me in your dreams,

she sings to those who live

amongst the clouds, speak of me

to the waifs and strays,

those who dance

across the night.

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