Lying in my attic,
Wanting to be interrogated,
There is a flower I maimed with a smile,
The spirit-longing of a blue-eyed belle
And an optimistic boy touching her cheek
As if awakened from a Greek enchantment.
A moment I’ve never quite experienced before,
Except perhaps in a chipped Victorian painting.
Maybe there was such a story.
I create these characters for an audience, only you.
So that if I snooze again amongst the dandelions,
My body lolling off against the crevice of porch rot
And the concrete slab of the sandman’s headstone,
I won’t be whisked away by a man of armor
To be sat atop a throne, undeserving,
A disheveled tear where my kidney’s quake.
And if my lungs shall stall in this make-believe,
Wrap me up in Chinese silk and wooden shoes
So that my daughters ancestry can become mine too.
Send me into the star-filled Apocalypse
In a Cinderella carriage, but leave the pumpkins out to wait.
So that my life girth can reach Narnia, or Nirvana,
Where the closet sings itself to sleep
And another body can become me.
The female part of yesterday, where life lies in wait
Of body parts, shoulders squeezing,
And then something new breathes into me.
Swoosh. Exhale. Await. Embody.
(First Appeared in All Things Girl, 2010)