Like Emily
In the room,
I am small it seems,
Like Emily, nobody who?
The gift of these words
Are beyond my potential.
So says my mother, and others.
And this little girl lost.
Sunk under the weight of opinions.
Like Alice down the rabbit hole.
I am underwritten, sunk.
My memory muck and ridden.
There is slip in every crevice,
A sliding composition.
So suddenly small,
His words remain and clear
the way. the potter promise molds
The clay beneath his dream.
Shelley Rae Bell
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