Holiday Story, Sort of

Long ago, a street ran with antique grown-ups and barbed wire. Diana came to. It was electricity. An antique dealer from San Francisco was stirring the birdbath with a bouquet. No, a thistle.

An erasure poem for the We Write Poems prompt Holiday Found Poetry. The text I began with was the first chapter of Zilpha Keatley Snyder’s The Egypt Game.

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4 thoughts on “Holiday Story, Sort of

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