Mom, why am I not like other kids? / Because you are special. / Are you special? / I am if you think I am. / Mom, what are you made of?
I felt for a pulse — but couldn’t find one. Wanted to say dead volcanoes and lava flows, bit my tongue, said cheese.
Bojana Stojcic writes prose and poetry, and has her words published here and there. If she could fly right now, or ever, she’d most likely head for the moon.
Dead volcanos and lava flow – perfect.
Thank you so much, J.
Love it!
Thank you, Suzanne.
A goat stands upon the bridge and stomps its cloven hoof. “Come out, I challenge you.”
The roaring creek beneath, snow melt swollen, made no reply.
“I’ll walk as I please. You’ll have no say.”
Clop, clop the goat bade to travel.
Rough hands reached up and snatched ol’ Billy.
well done!
Great!