Wrinkled Paper She was carved from wooden shafts of blackwood and pink ivory, mulched and pulped in collated swank. From the bolted margins she’s parted from her shield rebelling against the jotter, torn to an asphalt schoolyard, mutilated to a ball, beaten and launched with their wooden bats, smashed in a recess game. Humiliated, frightened, rising through ridicule, she lies wrinkled, rumpled and tramped. She limps towards the breach to a bridge of branches, fading back into the margins, ironed with sharp splinters. Never the same Never the same.
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