Come hither now, my Little Keys,
Lost in this great house
Like grimy shelled fleas
Dwarfed on the back of a grouse.
Ugh!—All furniture is thrown!
You are eternally lost…
Unless! I see,
A slight glint across
your blade’s polished effigy.
Or…
Until my Mom gets home
About the Author
C.K. Mills is a senior English writing major. Her focus is on short stories but enjoys reading and writing poetry. To paraphrase Emily Dickinson, she hopes that her poems delight her readers to the point that they feel like the tops of their heads are taken off.
Inklings Literary Magazine 