Never The Pretty One
she dreams of whitebirds inhabiting her body
their plump forms pushing beneath the mantle of collarbone
pressing up past sloped shoulders into proud posture
she imagines the cobra
uncoiling itself from sleep in the slouched cave of her spine
stretching her to a lean line
she has had enough
of eyes shutting down when she walks by
blinking her to a vague impression
furtive glances skipping past her stories
she fears dying in a sluggish life
limping past adventure
she longs to waken in someone else’s dream
fluid limbs dancing beneath a wafer of moon
she is keeper of dark mysteries
inflamed secrets
and she prowls the night
in search of sacred rhythms
she has had enough of speech that fails her
the oppressed silence
that shudders upward
from stifled bones
she longs for voice saturated in fluency
the annointing of rhyme
easy movement of word on word
she wants to steal into life like an explosion of verse
like a heart’s fist turned inward
like a language doubled over
in grief
or laughter
tonight
she dreams she is woman reborn
a galaxy of beauty pivoting on an axis of grace
she is stunning stars into meteor showers
all eyes turn towards her
and the whole world spins on her image
~Barbara Mitchell