The Sensibilities of the Smallest Nesting Doll
Written by Brianna Bruce. Posted in Poetry.
I was a child
of cool-patterned skin
Nesting doll in winter attic
Layers of paper-mache
In a frosted cocoon.
I gazed at lightning windows
While the others wept at darkness
My mouth was kissed by thunder rumbles
As my unshaken palms soothed trembling walls.
I knew the transience of playgrounds, fast friendships
That only spanned sandboxes, ending with setting sun.
I saw fate as fact in action: three dogs, then eldest left.
Mortal math, quick tears melted into matter-of-fact.
Dense glue decayed under hurried paint when
Spring discovered gold in the sun. Paper
Cracked hairline fractures until I
Burst out and began to bloom.
Brianna Bruce
Brianna Bruce is a recent graduate of Cumberland University, where she studied English and Creative Writing. While she worked as an assistant managing editor at Novus and as a writing specialist in Cumberland University’s writing center during her time as an undergraduate student, she now focuses on her work in the horror genre—specifically short screenplays, for which she has received several nominations and official selections from film festivals. Although much of her time is spent working on her applications for MFA programs in Popular Fiction, she also enjoys watching horror films, listening to comedy podcasts, and collecting mystery toys.
