Porcelain Ghosts
After a sculpture by Sybille Peretti


seven china children: heads and upper torsos, but no arms—
immaculately silent; or perhaps they’re faintly whispering
pig Latin prophecies, confessions, secret passwords, codes—
their heads tilt in to one another, minds intently listening
for a page-turn, or permission; or the answer to a prayer—
they’re the shiny, snow-white ghosts of who we were
when we were young and talent fluttered in our chests
and might have grown like vines from greenstick bones

Annie Fisher

If you have any thoughts on this poem, 
Annie Fisher would be pleased to hear them.