by Adrienne Monestere
She was carved
from wooden shafts
of blackwood and pink ivory,
mulched and pulped
in collated swank.
From bolted margins
she’s parted from her shield
rebelling against the jotter,
torn to an asphalt schoolyard,
mutilated to a ball,
beaten and launched
with their wooden bats,
smashed in a recess game.
Humiliated,
frightened, rising
through ridicule,
she lies wrinkled,
rumpled
and tramped.
She limps towards the breach
to a bridge of branches,
fading slowly back into margins,
ironed with sharp splinters.
Never the same
Never the same.
Category: Featured, Poetry, SNHU Student