through the forest; up on a bump,
back down to the ground. In January
Roo was king of White Knuckle Hill,
come February she bounced in a groove.
March up, April down; the hops grew
higher with each month of the year.
Secret smiles were the fingernail
marks on her bloody palm, harsh
reminders that things would improve
with time. At least she hoped so.
Prompt Inspiration: 3WW- bump, knuckle, transfix
Poetic Asides- Things change