Dunlop Of Clinton Poem by Nassy Fesharaki

Dunlop of Clinton

She is the known writer.
She has made characters
The famous short novels,
Small towns’, and real.

Characters scare her
Ghosts, alive, all around
To their souls she is bound…
She fans flies and maggots.

And they walk on her fame
They pluck the fruits of her name
They boast that, they know her:
“Another customer to the shops
Another library visitor, at post box,
She brought her trash to the door,
Walked free on grass, among us.”

“When was last you saw her? ”
“She is gone for resting, to B.C.”
They reply, “Recently…possibly”
Unaware she is locked in her house.

But still make money off of her
Her name, fame, and success…
As if true are fables, fairy-tales.

This is what she wrote of
In detail…
“And this is who they are.”

She saw her characters in the depth…
Narrow-mind, illiterate and useless…
Now they are kidnappers of her soul.
She is Coyllor of Incas; in her house.