Musings of Khlari

They always told me that you were a myth-
product of an overactive imagination.
Though fleeting I had sensed that you were real,
Sitting on his knee he would tell me,
how much I was like his little Kathleen.
Twenty years to prove now your existence.
There remain, three things which relate to you,
three small things tell one small and shortened life.

Ease away my many layers,
you take away my fragile shells.
Prising gently, so carefully,
coaxing slowly further out the
living Matrioska. Softly
lifting the layers one by one,
eventually, painstakingly,
the raw tender core is revealed.