Memory lines

I could say, your arms, the horizon, the ocean shore, or anywhere but here.   Instead, the only place I wish to run is backwards along memory lines to encircle the small girl with a face like mine and reassure her everything gets better in time.   Photograph & poem: © Kristiana Reed 2019

Whirligig

I used to believe in abracadabra magic; white rabbits from hats, ribbons from shirt sleeves, coins from behind my ear, children’s party make believe; dragons and princesses, tall towers and treehouses, and the way the wind blows whispers when you are small and slight with dreams dripping on your brow and in the crooks of … Continue reading Whirligig