Adventuress by Kristin Garth

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Adventuress 

 

You will awake in your very own bed

a fuzzy blue caterpillar still in

your head. Aloft upon a speckled red

mushroom above, he asks you two questions:

who are you? What do you love? You mutter

but buttercups bloom from your lips. The words

you would utter all gibberish.  Putter

with buttons until you are bare, bluebirds

beside you, mums in your hair like they were

in the meadow where you wandered one day—

ever inside though you can’t stay. Adventures

remembered with fingertips, you trace

their touches—  monarchs, mad men, memoirists

who educated an adventuress.