Twenty Tiny Colonies

Caked in
flour; her hands
and hair bagged

for questioning.
Twenty
tiny
colonies of

jam fall down her
apron like plinko
chips down
a polish coat rack.

Not tonight, though.
Tonight,
dressed in Morocco
and Grace;

hair, drawn like
a longbow, like
a half-forgotten dream.

by Eric Raanan Fischman

Comments (1)

saved in sour sands & hour glassed for fresh tea sea wet mighty bolognas of ham not flounder a prawn-like plank ship town splashes cat caught a frightful tonic spritzed in rococò & lace here, dawn like a bowl song like a dragon-fought drum