The coast is clear, hope
Planted with her back against the ivory walls
Fingers grip molding
edge of precipice
Hoping chocolate remnants
stains the corners
Sweat slipping down her back
Pressing into scalloped shirt
Worry stains
Pleats on her skirt lined like soldiers at attention
Proper even in the act of
Defiance
Bright white socks
precise frills brushing small ankles
Pristine, Swan Lake
Glissade, a whisper from memory
Echoing into the long hallway
Moving quickly
Pale neck twisting back and forth
Surveillance
A doorway looms
plié to jeté, adage
To pause
No one is here - finally
She races through the back doors
Into light
Bursting like a beaver from a dam
She breathes in sunshine
One living existence in this whole place
Madame’s voice, shrill
a grey cloud, obtuse
Your skin will burn
About the Creator
Michele Nampalli
This space is breath for my sensitivity. The poems come fully formed. I've known for quite some time now that my art is about receiving more than creation...its the most natural way I know to process my inner world. It started when I was 7.
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More stories from Michele Nampalli and writers in Poets and other communities.
If You Love Me, You'll Do It
I met Jason when I was five years old. I could say that I loved him from the moment I saw him. He was so handsome to me and I felt in awe by his presence. When they introduced him as the new kid in school, I wanted to be his friend right away. I remember it like it was yesterday. I remember his smile and how he didn't seem shy. He appeared confident and ready to learn. I waved at him and said "hello," before anyone else could even say a word. He sat next to me, and I asked him if he wanted to be friends. He looked so happy as he said, "Yes!"
By Sidney Smith (Sid Smith)7 days ago in Fiction
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Hello