O the body’s much ballyhoo’d right to be born! Aligning with her right to shine & die, a star! They all know her name but not her age A doctor our daughters shared, opined. Her name, he said, was failure to— (Thrived onscreen, you’ve seen her.) My daughter towered above her in real Life. Born on the same day, they might notice you at the edge of the field with your banners and bottled cells? A managed tot, from the womb unstoppered, Brained-up for the stupids. Don’t grow! Don’t rise into big citizenship! Soul underling, soul malingering at the gate! Till the end of the body’s time: Unicorn, my little porn. Wanted To unhunger her too, I. But she filled the screen in that field of dying flowers. Famous-eyed, turned away from the gift of sustenance, brave: no semblance of a future beyond everyone’s fake-maternal mind. Liars’ banners. Then the unicorn’s passage: lightfoot. And so loved, lightfoot, so apparently loved: Some of us must starve in order to be seen. Copyright © 2014 by Carol Muske-Dukes. Used with permission of the author |
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