Whispers of Jane Doe

whispers of jane doe

By Giulia Helms

a needle, some stardust, a nightlight, perfume— 

a nymphette dream in a damp, dark tomb

from the fading embers, a spark begins to grow

a sprite of whimsy, whom you’d never truly know

made of lace and ivory, silk and sap,

unable to place her home on a map.

goddess of hunger, ruiner of sleep,

she sung a quick ballad too solemn and deep.

from thought to breath and shadow to dust, 

to ashes we return, and in that she could trust