December the first finds Santa pressed down, pancake flat, front and center in a neighbor’s yard. Limbs locked, he lies in state. Not even the children stop to pay their last respects or wish a wish.
Perhaps he died while making frantic angels in the powdered snow. Or perhaps a slow leak spanning years of good cheer caused his shape to change, needled his spirit, like mine, ’til it
In the Whirlwind is a poetic storm that frees history from the cages of corruption and puts it in the hands of everyday people. Words are weaved into a new fashion statement that has nothing to do with runways but everything to do with projects!
Share
Print
Save
Follow
Love Tinka
Dan
Poignant write here...many, including me, feel the same way this time of year. Hope it gets better....for both of us. Excellent!
(((HUGS))) and love, Karla.