this hollowness aches
a matryoshka missing
its final babushka
a cold shadow
without enough room
to allow even an echo
but all too empty
the walls too far apart
the smell of wood
faint
the odor of red paint
overwhelming
x marks the spot
where the heart is buried
but the map is now lost at sea
and no one searches
either on the sea
or in the woods
no one willing to dig
no one willing to open
that last casket
Words and Feathers 
You’ve presented a metaphor that so intricate, yet so able to be given any number of scenarios, from a heart so shielded as to seem inaccessible, yet easily wounded, to one long dead and subject to neither light nor shadow, and all points in between.
Thank you, Ken. That’s quite a compliment.
I’m going to go ahead and read this a few times. Not going to lie, babushka caught my eye and so I read it. Now I’m not sure how I feel. I really wish I was better and expressing how poetry makes me feel. Because often thats what it does: make you feel. I was never too good at the analysis bit in school, but this has a lovely feel to it.
Thank you, that’s very kind. I’ve had babushkas in my head since I found your site.
I admit I’m not great with analysis, either. I think these things start with an idea or a word but they quickly take on a life of their own.
Yeah, that is often how I am with my stories. A word or phrase or image. Then people see a lot more in them than I intended.
Sometimes I try not to intend anything 😃
Same. It’s a good way to do it. Often comes out better I think.