poetry

Fingers

The small tendons

in her toes, stiffened

when she touched the

cold face.

 

She lay on the

melodic grass, it gave

a lilt to the fractured

afternoon.

 

The little girl

touched

the lady’s face.

She took off the

scarf, like a dead

vein.

 

She pressed the

bloody bundle

into her

wilted hands.

 

 

 

 

PhilosopherPoet

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