This post is part of a series called 100 Days of Poetry.

Like darts, her legs cascade beneath
the ruffle of her Summertime dress

Her knees, the beautiful
punctuation on her caramel
colored skin and her bony
shoulder blades hold court just
below her neck.

When did her tiny fingers and toes
become the delicate lace digits
that carry her like glass on the
sidewalk or make music from the
keys of the piano in the dining room?

And when did the baby white hair
turn golden and ringlet? Her teeth
grew in, her torso up, her breast
a blossom and her bottom bubbled.

Yellow is her color when the sun is
shinning and midnight blue at dusk.

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