Thursday, 12 May 2011

Trinket Box


A paintbox girl in the mirror frame


Hallway washed out to sepia.


Gemma is swinging the locket of Mary


She's wearing high heels


For lounge bar climbing.


A mystery of perfume


Sent from her mother


Leafing through a scrapbook of hopes


Torn from the dusting.


She leaves charms


In her way to the door


The key on a chain, hypnotising.


She's polished her girl to cut glass.


Gemma has around her throat


A silver rope from her father.


The clasp is strong


And she knows the cost.


He's welding a ring to cage her.



2011



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