The Maiden of the Milk Carton She is missing but I know that she’s kind. It appears that she has taken her own line, a path that appears I cannot find. Often I find myself rewinding to hear her speak. Reminding me of her voice, so sweet. Perhaps to find clues on what to do as she held all the answers within her solid spine. Meanwhile mine is misaligned. Low or high I am blind to her. I search underfoot for any bones left behind. This was doubtful as she was too divine for a body. Everyone saw how she shined. Where did she go? I miss her, this girl of mine.
McKala Downing
32
