Submitted by Kristin Chaney. To be published in our upcoming Fall edition.
There is a potency in feminine attention.
A sigh between each disc of the spine
The flex of bone in crushed dreams
Drunk on being known.
She, wrapped liked sunshine through veins, is
Threaded into being the moment you realized how much you need her.
Woozy in the knowledge that she will be your sanctuary,
Tears dripping from cheeks to cooking pots, slipping across the Rippled surface of vinyl…
Broken things. Bruised things. Bloodied things.
Things without homes or countries or marriages that love them the way they
Deserve. Naked under streetlamps
Their truth, like honey at the back of your throat, spoon clicking the tip of
Your teeth. They are flight,
Euphoric in the winds, intercessor of faith
Heart defenders, your presence of mind when the ashes settle.
When her gaze falls upon you
You will know then, the strength of being known
Devotion slung blindly through her shackles and
More reliable than the systems designed to
Capture her shine
Her ability to love another until even the reserve for self is spent
is uniquely Feminine divine.