the girl with the turquoise hair

A soup boal filled her cream, colored fingers. A dull spoon rests on the table in front of her, recently used by the aged woman siting to her left. Carolers walk in the room, but her face remains pointed towards the ground. The hair falling from her head, like water from a spout, gives no clue to its natural hue. I sing of joy brought to the world by an untouched girl, not old enough to drive. This overwhelming good news seems inexistent with one look at her face. It is as if the dye used to stain her hair spread everywhere else, too.

-savvy.b

#poetry #prosepoems