We were two girls in flannel pajamas and mittens peering out the open window up to the snow-dotted moon. I cried after cutting your long black hair into boyish layers like mine as you watched strands catch the light while falling like silk pine needles. We played adult with Korean tea tables and borrowed brass candles that threw long shadows over our made-up faces. After you left my home, I dreamt of you as a tiny doll with raven hair and glass eyes. You grew and grew in your new bed until you shadow stretched over my body. I let go of you that morning and saw your satin nightgown flutter through the window before I slept again.Honorable mention:
"Chorus," by Peter Chapman; "Lunch Break in Druid Hill," by Medea M. Elvy; "The Ad," by Cynthia Gaver; "The Platform of Absolute Rest . . .," by Tara Hart; "Sunday," by Kate Korrow; "How Much Does It Cost," by Sonia Lewis; "What They Left," by Megan Snyder-Camp.
Honorable-mention poems will appear in future editions of CP's poetry column, Bones.