by Kathleen Kimball-Baker
Only mice spoke to Little Linnie. No one else really understood.
She’d open throw her closet, muse on her choices, then select.
Today I will be Cinderella.
“Mr. and Mrs. Crawford,” the doctor said, “Belinda is, well, demented.”
Linnie’s parents cried.
“We may be able to help with drugs."
No! Leave her be.
Image by Sir John Everett Millais
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