Her tiny paper voice redolent of old jewelry
and longing, decorated with a fairytale ending,
an act of real-life resistance, saying:
“Me too! My existence counts as something.”
An umbrella, she sheds tears the clouds
cry for the way girls were raised to run long,
tapered fingers around wineglass rims, and
to twirl the tiny paper parasols propped
atop fruit-laden drinks with titillating names.
How does she do it—sing songs of such
encouragement and evocation? Yet, there,
amidst a library of crumbling books in archaic languages, she hums a song so dark and cheerful
that, in an unlit, unloved corner, Goethe stirs
and blinks approvingly, and she, sensing
his presence, tosses him a knowing wink.
(c) 2018, by Hannah Six
Image: Archives of Hamilton Public Libraries,
Hamilton, Ontario, Canada (via Flickr)
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