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“You are an alchemist; make gold of that.” ~Timon of Athens. Act V. Sc. 1. L. 117
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Spin, spun, span
the world in her fingers.
No wheel is too small,
no metal too fat,
no dwarf too short,
for her to guess what lies
inside each, hidden and frozen.
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She knows her purpose
before she’s even born —
who else among us is so lucky?
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She’s not shut up in a tower
like some. Her hair doesn’t matter.
Her voice either.
If she had wings of a bird,
she would only use them
to fan herself cool from the
mutation’s heat.
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There are days when
all she tastes is the
dust of sun. It grits the needles
of her teeth, splits the seam
of her lips.
The goose licks her dry.
Only she knows the secret
of its golden egg.
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When her work is done,
she spends afternoons
lying on the wooden floor
pulling the leftover bits of straw
from the cracks, stroking
each shaft soft,
marveling
at the downy glow,
every lonely and perfect
golden strand.

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About This Poem: Busy day. Four-minute ramble poem. Hah! The idea came from the above quote, which my friend Jason Mashak had on his Facebook today. I don’t know why. I didn’t ask. Just took the idea/image and forged ahead.

About Poem-A-Day: For the month of April (National Poetry Month), I’ve signed on to write a poem-a-day (eeks!). To make it slightly easier on myself, my rules are that I have to write each poem in fifteen minutes or less, and that I have to post it here on the blog as soon as I’m done. No edits. Just rough. Raw. Right out of the gate. (Of course, if you’re playing along, I hope you’ll post a link to your poem in the comments here — mainly because I’m selfish and I want to read them!)

See all my Poem-A-Day poems here.

You can also read some amazing poems-a-day over at Sage Cohen’s blog.

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