God split the baby,
giving them twins–
so that each could be
a real parent to one.
She’d found refuge in the convent—
from marriage to a man who wanted her body,
to a Man who solely wanted her heart.
When he lost his faith Yesterday,
she found hers Tomorrow,
so Today was their Day of Jubilee.
The rich go, & are forever in stone,
where flowers are placed to die,
but the poor, they are as ashes in the wind.
The coexistence of night & day;
the sun is the pearl being formed,
the moon, its fossil.
…relent, horrendous, artifact, lagoon, wobble, and plunder.
The Burial Underground
Twined with rusting links resembling
wrapped like a mummy in white sheets,
like a goddess of ancient Greece,
a woman resides in the Lochness Lagoon—
an artifact of a domestic goddess
who identified with being a mermaid.
Her legs are tied together,
even as her hands reach upward,
unbound by wood or satin,
or the complexities of life.
In life, he imprisoned her;
in death, he set her free,
for there is no grave with his name on it
attached to hers.
She is free to remain alive in the hearts
of those who still love her above.
The water plunders her flesh,
even as it preserves her bones,
in this twilight zone
known as Davy Jones’s Locker.