Times without number, taken in fluted reed Could be the dancer who Swore she would no, could not, hang up her shoes Neglect that spirit within who urged to move Still now, decades pass She has lost her edges, she is a filament of someone who Once danced in fury in all her youth and […]
via So quickly we forget the steps — thefeatheredsleep

And he can’t tell if those are callouses at the end of her toes
Or bloated cherries, boils oozing puss
At the end of each of the fifths of her tapering feet.
He shames her from progress
As she grows strong
Towering over the people
The industries, infrastructures,
Sizing up sky scrapers,
He’s shrunk
Feels as a stain on the sidewalk
For the ego kept him strong
Termite infested crutches
Fire licking away at
The wood’s soft center
And he doesn’t have
A leg to stand on.
The footprints
Left across her malleable frame
We send Mother to the camps
Get her working in the lines,
Heaven knows if ma
Gets out of hand
Gaia will swallow us whole
They carve away
Beneath the surface
Rotting jack o lantern
Toss the slop in the trash
Her vital organs.
We’ve progressed
From butcher house cutting board
To scabbing through
demonstration
flanking Planned Parenthood
for the surrender
The only thing worse
To make the choice
“Life,”
Not death
Condemned
For loving the little she had