Feathers: Edit number 3!

[Todd]

Hi Stephanie, here are some comments on your new edit:

First (just asking not a criticism), did you revert to Feather's as the title?

Next edit. I wanted to try and make it clearer but without clinging too much to the narrative.


The girls gathered on the shore like glassy pebbles
dreaming to skim across sheets of fairy-tale blue,
unaware that once the skipping ends
they will plunge into the murk.

In youthful sunlight they curve into the sand--Curve is a wonderful word, and much better than the previous comb for your purposes.
bodies pressing like shells laced with hope,--I would consider cutting laced with hope. It weighs the line down and longing only below does its work anyway.
longing only to be collected
as shiny pennies in a jar.--You already have them as shells don't mix the metaphor with pennies. Probably just move in a jar up after collected

Their treasure, packed beneath uncut skin
remains unseen, lost to them
in the dazzle of siren songs at bedtime;--dazzle is the wrong word. You want something auditory and compelling not visual
lies of shining knights and true love’s kiss.--For me, and it could just be me, I think this line makes the point too obviously. If you went up a line and went either with "...of siren songs and bedtime stories" or "the siren song of bedtime stories" it may get you there. Just thoughts

When he arrived he promised her a tale--Maybe simplify to "When he arrived with a tale"
just for her, a story.
She curled it like a pearl,
a secret treasure in wide-eyed hands.

The story surrounded her like a protective blanket,
each word a honeyed charm inside her ear.
Fluttering lightly as a bird she played her part
knew her lines, each chapter a familiar friend.

A light ruffle against her neck
the air sweet candy floss and apple blossom,
with the delicate brush of each page turn
she began disappear. --This all feels smoother. There are other points I could make in the last two strophes, but it's mostly style at this point, and I still like what I liked before

In a caravan of roses,
flesh bleeding for the first time, he pressed
heavy on her spine she kept on smiling;--I keep feeling like I want a comma after spine and an "and"
it was the only face she knew.

He did not bother to throw far
chipped glass against the rocky shore--Maybe instead of the use "his"
marsh marking stains on her summer frock,
bleeding into skin, bone and blood.

Her tongue, stilled, in need a new language,
words not found in bedtime books or princess towers.
Over the water she listened to the lullabies of mothers
singing to their daughters of once upon a time.

Much stronger. I really like where you've taken this. The ideas seem to be snapping into focus more.

Best,

Todd