Auburn Maiden

The duckling downy hair around her head

floats wisply, ghostly as Ophe’la dead.

(Though dusty air is most her element.)

It’s Confectionery Sugar; not lament.

Her palms a light limb peplum at her side,

adorning her adoring frame are Tide

washed sweaters, knitted pink and pastel and grey.

Behind these, though, it’s no mouse, nor prey

A doe as pure as candy ginger sticks

betwixt an amber honey comb, the miss

is fearless. Hidden ‘near her freckled skin,

her strength of heart and living voice within

resounds like gunshots firing through her tears.

Tho soft like rain, this brown-eyed braves your fears.