Fiction Friday: Micropoetry from the Book

Maxwell Manor was where we had spent our holidays.
Our house on Harrington Court, our everydays.
Soon, every day would be a holiday.

David said my eyes were imperial topaz,
my hair, woven by butterflies from corn silk dried in the sun,
my lips, rose petals, my tongue, the dew.

Once upon a time in Green Haven,
a man called David came,
saving my mother from single motherhood,
my sister & me from fatherless childhood.

Mother’s mourning dresses were black with long sleeves,
her dinner dresses little black sleeveless ones.
She wore her widowhood well.

Patrick had given her pearls,
however uncultured.
David had given her diamonds like herself—
flawless and cutting.

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