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by Anne Di Baguette

at noon the monster

shakes away the

embryonic safety

of quilted caverns

and a warm den


dreams still cling to her limbs,

hanging in whispers

round her neck

the monster shrugs off

their demanding embrace and


(she sleeps head to end, to

confuse the foot vampires)


around her

angels float suspended,

offering courage in their fashion,

bidding good day

with smiles and

scented smoke

and lyrical wisdom


a primordial language of

undecipherable guttural growls

precedes her stalk

down the dark corridor

to a place of light

and good smells,


stopping only to receive a fairy’s kiss

(or perhaps a pause to confirm the

tiny winged-one’s sage appraisal that

indeed, this monster walks)


the monster emerges

with bleary eyes

and a tousled mane that

defies comment,

but the hot liquid is soothing

sipped slowly

with deliberation


the monster we made

breathes fire and tosses

the cares of the world into

the bulging sack she carries over her shoulder,

and aside from these, I can’t see a thing I would change


Posted on 12/01/2017
Copyright © 2022 Anne Di Baguette

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