In the middle of the fallen apart cobblestone courtyard,
the wiry bench made of iron and plywood,
slides slivers of pain into her skin.

She is naked in her sanity drifting towards,
the ocean filled alphabet soup,
another number in line for her lithium dose.

Climbing out of her hardened turtle shell,
turning towards the sun,
enveloping in fire she is charred black.

Doves flock to her sides,
pecking at the falling flesh,
swallowing whole her torment.

Silver lashing sword,
cutting the bonds in two,
the lava filled chains dissipate into ash.

Looking around with her pigeon holed eyes,
the fallen flesh around her morphing back to her shape,
the doves becoming apart of her whole.

Sprouting feathers to make her fly,
into her opium filled libido,
soaring up like Icarus to the sun.

Melting candles in the wind,
releasing sweet smell of wisteria,
incense of yesterday.

09/20/2001

Author's Note: This poem is about a woman who has always been a hero to me, someone I wanted to be when I was growing up, someone that unfortunately - I could never be.

Posted on 09/20/2001
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