Straight Lines and Jags

Upon her body lies a story
A chronicle of her time
There are lines
Some are perfect in their length and stare
Some are jagged with a roughness in their glare
A few you will know
And even predict
Yet you will never ask how she was whipped
Only a barrel
One with drips of water
Knows her every cue
Deep inside
Remain colors of blue
A remnant of yesterday
And maybe today
Her book to be told
Is greater than gold
For it will never be sold

Written by
Elizabeth Mendiola


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