I wrote this
The girl with
no Sweetflakes for breakfast
cut up her pillow
with tiger sharp eyeballs.
When she aimed at her mother
her mother was smart
and left in a hurry.
The girl with no Sweetflakes for breakfast
made raisin-wrinkles on her nose
as she screwed up her face
so tight that someday it might
have had to be ironed
except that she never ate again ~
since there were no Sweetflakes,
and soon she dried up
into a soft little mound
of dust and the wind came
and blew her away on little
pillowcase ribbons and fluff.
~by Shirley Twofeathers
Dreaming of ice
Covered windshields
Steep hills
Waters rushing in an
Icy flood
Driving blind
The dull blade moves
Slowly in it’s hidden
Place
A tiny grain of
Sand that didn’t grow
Into a pearl
But turned instead
Into a rusted
Shard a dull edged bit
Of pitted glass
No beauty here
Just grit and ash
And
Why not let
Those rising waters
That deep wound
Bleed
Why
The desperate scramble
Sliding slipping falling
What if
Instead I choose
And close my eyes
Accelerate down that icy
Road
Exploding
Into brilliant shards
Of light and icy stars.
~Shirley Twofeathers, 9/11/2020