Before the Storm | Rose Mary Boehm
Lattice is the delicate
but firm separation
between two worlds.
The evening sun
lets almost black
silhouettes undulate
on her small blankets.
Her tiny fingers
pick holes into the stiff
layer of wallpaper,
where pink flowers
meet pink leaves.
Father has told her the story,
has sung her the song.
He now stands cut out
black against the window,
brightly lit dust motes
hustling in the wake
of his breath.
Aegis stolen from a time
when nothing is safe.
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