this place is burned into my memory
so vivid, so sad, what if i am the butterfly?
i close my eyes and i see
swimming through the warm pools of my memory
the silhouette of a figurine in the corner
tinkering with lullabies
in the blue truth of bitterness
a tricky fairy plays in the drapes
she is whimsical and a little mean
dimpled and plump like a friendly fire
i know this place so well i see it
sculpted in daisies and gumdrops
but if thunder should crack
to break the seal of this fuzzy whimsy
i would wake to see dina
trying on dresses and shoes
the sequins catching the lingering light
and reflecting through an old bent mirror
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