CIRCLE

Once upon a time there was a girl named Circle whose voice was pure and wild. She sewed the head of a frog to that of a bird, the wild child of the forest. She called this creature Tody; she felt he was family. Two boys threw stones and laughed at her; they tore her sensitive skin. She lived within a commune where colors marked commerce, artists danced and soldiers marched while mothers baked bread and prayed. Her mother's eyes were white and cloudy, her chest a door closing as a party emptied another bottle and promised she would endure. His life, Box touched her, she pulled his arm: Please, ask them, she needed help. But Tody raised a demanding finger. She obeyed, No soul beyond our forest line can cross this ground, and CIRCLE saw her mother slip, afraid she wouldn't breathe anymore. Party prepared her body, but the song can mend what was torn. Her voice will stitch her from the inside, as all cures are born. CIRCLE gave her Tody who sang beside her feet, while the mother whispered life dear Box, sing where the world can see.