Florencia

Strings, bells, voices

All weaving together as signs to the pilot who drives her

Seeing cracked faces like puzzles waiting to be fit, her hands fail to

‘I see martha, she wants to be friends again’ .. she says to her mother that passed two years back

Each of her fingers has a mind, she wants to touch her toy.

When she writes her homework, letters flying as she tries to ground them on paper

‘Here is your colouring book, darling’ ..points out her father with his eyes moving to his hands

Colours are black, paints are white.. she hates the thought of a classic life

‘I paint with them on the other side, not with all of you out here, even mother, I paint with her’..

Her tongue scrambling words that are too piercing to her father

She falls down, shaking like her broken core, she falls, but she is smiling

You see pain is the only thing she has known.. since she can remember

Rounded candy as she names it… numbs it down, makes her rise again to her playful nature

She plays piano, effortlessly, her release, she calls it the eyes to her world

She reads books, like layers of her favourite dress

The only time her smile fades is when sandy comes, whispering

‘blades, needles, they are the real fables, use them, freedom’

Lines then scatter across her skin.. mapping, directing and freeing an anger she fails to understand

‘Even if it’s on you, dad, she says its fine, you are also a fable’

Most of the gold frames she sees are in the gallery of her mind

She feels it whole, they see it fragmented

She is twelve, she says she is ageless