Master of the pixies

It all started with an idea.

The drama escalating with a Persil smelling bed sheet, Auntie Margaret and me… somewhere.

The persona of a young woman:
paraded and stuffed,
dressed and made-up.

The denial of womanhood, the rites of passage and me…somewhere.

The play continues.

I stood swirling above myself:
green tights,
pointed ears,
and blushed cheeks.

My own private audience, Master of the Pixies, Auntie Margaret and me…somewhere.

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One Response to Master of the pixies

  1. Madhava says:

    I love this poem. It has a powerful lyric, engaging structure and evocative imagery – good work!