Poetry

Nana Ollerenshaw: Toothpick Woman

Toothpick Woman   The toothpick woman left no footprints. She ran in the shower to get wet, knitted herself into a scarf before she pulled her body out. Even a sneeze would make enough breeze to knock her about. People often thought she wasn’t there. She missed herself in the mirror when she combed her hair. At night her blanket hardly rose above her nose.   But toothpick woman changed, put on a little fat to fill her body in. She cast a shadow now, claimed a third dimension, gloried to see a roundness underneath her skin. In her mind…

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