Girl turns woman

The closed window is struck by voices that come flying from the basement,a choral celebration of womanhood.They will not break my glass panes like street-side boys cricket but coagulate on them like rain moths hitting to gain an entry to light , only to die on wings.

The voices flow from a jointly vibrating drum-skin like the strident tom tom announcing a new girl-woman thing.They strike like midnight jackal wails with joint complaints against the moon.They sound you about a flower arrival in the grass waiting to be discovered.

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