Walnut

The off-brand dolls had heads and arms that would pop right off. I had these and walnut shells from the tree that loomed over our rented house. Dolls are inadequate building material, unless you want to play at being domestic or play at being a god. My cousins and I were experts at both. So, I practiced poetry from childhood—transforming hideous-haired sticks into intricate systems.

Maybe what we play with means something; we grow into humans who have the spatial ability to form dreams or to shatter houses based on how we learn to interact with the inanimate world.

Dolls do not fit in walnut shells.
Even just as heads.

Kari Flickinger’s poetry and short stories have been published in or are forthcoming from Written Here: The Community of Writers Poetry Review, Iron Horse Literary Review, Moonchild Magazine, Quiet Storm, Panoply, Milk Journal, Susurrus, Falcon Scratch, The Daily Californian, and The Inquirer (Diablo Valley College). She is an alumna of UC Berkeley.

Advertisements
This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to Walnut

  1. I love your writing style. Thank you for the post. – letstalkaboutpersonaldevelopment.blog

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.