Thursday, June 4, 2015

I am a matryoshka doll
Starting off with a woman
Capable of feats beyond compare
Lifting, loving, mourning
A man larger than life

With shoulders as wide as summer
And imperfect feet stumbling
On dying dreams
Broken toes and swollen knees
Misaligned hips
Still dancing the dance of
Forward motion
Lips upturned in a quiet smile

Second is the inner goddess
Barely clothed
Swollen with desire
Searching sexy lingerie stores
For things she will not buy
Stocking up on batteries
And hiding the phone to watch
When skin touches skin

Then there is a creature
Craving profound, recondite
Connections, rejuvenation within
Ruminations, peace in the puzzle
Of word and inspiration not in the
But in the searches

Inside here
Is the wounded one
Crushed by the cavalry
Still bleeding on the battle ground
A chest wound
Legs spread asunder
Supine in carnelian crusted
Blades of grass
Willing her sword to find, again,
Her hand
Willing her broken body
Back to strength
Willing to try and die
Again and again in the epic battles
That search, not for dominion, but love
The smallest doll
Sits settled softly
Fire eyes
And hope
Butterfly wings of volcanic
She has no mouth
Yet tries to scream
A siren song
She feels what they all
She knows what they
Have done
She bears each scar
And wears the glittering signs
Of heroes and calls attention to none

She is the whirlwind
The child prodigy
The serpent spawned
With angel tongue
And she


To die