A flaxen haired, grinning girl perches among the robins and crows. She peers into the mist waiting for me. The girl is my Other, materialized from lifetimes ago.  Her name is Sharon, meaning “plain.”

I write furious first drafts about her. Sometimes Sharon is an angry, scared teenager screaming for release. Other times she is a little white girl among a nation of Navajo kindergartners.

Once Sharon dreamed she was a Roma gypsy child hungry for freedom from filth and destiny. She woke up stranded on a lonely road and taken in by a dark circus. She dreams of fame and flamenco dancing with Carmen Amaya.


Image courtesy of Danka and Peter

In response to Tale Weaver by Mindlovemisery Menagerie

 

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2 thoughts on “The Rose of Sharon

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