To the Toothless Girl


I would like to be orange and blue at the same time,
I would like to cut a crown out of paper and place it on my head,
I would like to tell the toothless girl with a falling out french braid 
and a dinner fork plunged through her hand that I love her, 
that it was okay to count the splotches of blood on the linoleum,
if it was her only solace from the world. 
I want to make my bed with children’s sleuth books, 
and pretend i have dragons protecting me in my fists,
I want to tell the toothless girl with falling out pigtails 
and a pool stick plunged through her chest that I love her,
that it was okay to count the carpet fibers as friends,
if it was her only solace from the world.
I want to wrap her up in the purple of my heart,
open the window wider so she can hear the song of the water,
rearrange the commas of her childhood,
give back things she never knew she lost
to the skeleton of her youth,
call out to her from the other room 
to show her the orange shell awash in the blue ache
and tell her she can be that too;
buy her a real crown, 
a real bed that is not fluffed every day with sorry memories,
turn up the radio louder and listen,
stand her in the doorway of her life with a fixed french braid,
watching the orange shell flush in blue and drift away,
and because we cannot sing,
we clap, 
and we clap until it is done.

-anna sluder 



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