Girl in Verse
Looking back it’s difficult to know how much of the
remembering is tainted by imagining and how much
is tainted by truth. These are our notes, summoned
up like monuments, each thought bowing to testify
a beautifully broken version of itself. It went wrong
before I knew it, our fiction in verse. Had we a
blueprint it might tell a different story. I would
scalpel a shape from us and smooth it out so no-one
could tell. I would fold it every kind of way to see if
the edges meet. I would allow myself that.
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