A trapped fawn: I fix her up, I dress her, I help her
recover, I imprison her in a tower. I suckle her with
the moon, bits of riddles, wasted blows.
When it’s windy, we travel on our mares of lace.
When it rains, we climb, in slow spirals, to tease the
nightingales with a stick.
When the doors, like women in fallen gowns, exchange
their passwords, we unfold in green, in grey, in jerks,
piece by piece, like the perforated music roll of a
player piano.
I call her Mamzelle Impossible. I stuff her with food.
I send her out to beg.
(Paul Colinet)
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Based on Topics: Food PoemsBased on Keywords: suckle, perforated, passwords, mamzelle