Poetry

Concealed (draft)

In the forest

we’ll hide the babe,

safe among the thorns,

but to raise her kind

of nature and sound mind,

a price to pay we must

conform:

To give up all our

fairy dust, so those

curious of soul

won’t turn our way and

turn this poor child’s heart

black as toxic

coal.

We must turn our backs

on all we know

and learn afresh despite

the pain, sweeping away

identity with the swiftness

brought by one fell

bite.

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