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.