Alliteration

Kid: Bossyboots.

Mama: Hah, bossypants!

Kid: But bossyboots uses alliteration.

Mama: Smartypants!

Kid: Smartysocks.

Hollowest

Fingering bone-deep contusions

Signs warn caution, bumps ahead

Or you’re dead.

Abiding (no hiding)

Source of burnt-brown dread

Broiling with worried wonder,

Ashes turned under.

Margaret unearthed the Dunbar stanza introduced by Kerry for PLAY IT AGAIN. Again!

Intercalation

My fall was so gradual

it went unnoticed, like crows-feet eyes

not fond of mirrors or the slow

leak of hours requiring an extra day

come February. Crows can fly

and we manipulate time to recognize

seasons but that woman is unfamiliar,

the one in the sweater, arms crossed

against October chill. After twelve

leap-years you’d think I’d sprout wings,

take a shot at the sun, evolve. But I’m

no leapling and prefer the shade,

leggy and shorn of blooms. Plus,

it’s simpler to languish than to fly

and be recognized, belly feathers

to frostbitten ground, a fallen woman

beckoning inward for returned Grace.

Late entry for Karin's prompt to the Real Toads: FALLING INTO LINES