A Poem by Anon ymous
A young girl rides by on a pink princess bicycle,
legs pumping, braids a-jangle;
the wind shudders quietly, a death rattle
disguised as a sigh.
The door between what was and what is left
becomes unhinged. She feels incidental,
refuses to unshine the past to appease an old
testament God stranded in a new testament world.
This street is unknown but the sights, the smells
remain still, certain; like her.