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"thumbelinas" poems
To girls who dream of being fairy princesses: turn your balconies into paradise greenhouses, and every night sing each of the Thumbelinas to sleep. Frost's flowers crowd beneath my fingers, the young moon peaking in. I dare not invite you again - your mind exploded into a nebula last time you saw so many lights. My tiny Thumbelinas have gotten married, with Thumbelinas of their won. I kiss their frostbitten flowers awake. I promised. Blue fingertips have become a norm, a childhood reminder of a wish for blue blood. It thaws outside. Wee Thumbelinas weep. The ferns unfurl. My lullabies make plants awaken, not from the beauty, but of dying loyalty.
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May 2, 2014
May 2, 2014 at 5:33 PM UTC
margaryta
Numb Orchids
To girls who dream of being fairy princesses: turn your balconies into paradise greenhouses, and every night sing each of the Thumbelinas to sleep. Frost's flowers crowd beneath my fingers, the young moon peaking in. I dare not invite you again - your mind exploded into a nebula last time you saw so many lights. My tiny Thumbelinas have gotten married, with Thumbelinas of their won. I kiss their frostbitten flowers awake. I promised. Blue fingertips have become a norm, a childhood reminder of a wish for blue blood. It thaws outside. Wee Thumbelinas weep. The ferns unfurl. My lullabies make plants awaken, not from the beauty, but of dying loyalty.
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