Before they laid bricks on her and called her a place
not a thing of flesh and light
before she lost her ability to mimic cat
and jump unheard
out of open windows
before her arms lost their ache to
live unbridled unburdened in
the clear surround
of joy
she was a light footed creature
listening to no scold
obedient to no rule
her father called her willful
her mother, spirited
her grandmother covered her face with faux shame
though she hid a smile
cousins were told to mind themselves
around her urging sprint
lest she rub off
some of her mercury
some of her wild saffron
the thing compelling her shine
when all seemed still and lifeless
a hurtling progress to wholeness
they forecast her early demise
said nothing, nobody could subsist
as fevered as her run
Zola Bud without shoes
temerity pulling her strings
as if puppetmasters were sea sprites
fashioning their dreams on tierra
with undomesticated weather vane
bound tight to wildest storm
A nice reminder of Zola Budd
love the imagery
The beauty and joy of the shining child, but oh, the sadness of the dimming called growing up.
Reblogged this on cabbagesandkings524 and commented:
TheFeatheredSleep – Of a girl, and then a woman
I love this one. Love it.
Thank you so much dearest Dawn