Truest Forms

Updated: Jan 8

She listens

to the whispers

of layered stone

formed by volcanoes. Follows

glimmers, reflecting smiles,

murky water

holding what one doesn’t want.

She allows her armpits to be hairy

and teeth, yellow.

She wants to drink beer

and swim in dirty water.

She speaks French to a stranger,

and kisses a man she doesn’t love.

She rolls her eyes at a widow

who forces her bread and butter

like she owes her something.

Sleeping in broad daylight

like a raccoon—

eyes blue,

she uses her arm as a sleeping mask,

forcing the air

to carry more

than their stagnant breaths,

to leave nothing.

A night with no moon

her hope is in an evening sun,

as she shuts her eyes

and rolls over.

"A dream is forming,"

she whispers,

grateful to not be in the arms of a lover.

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