any other sister
She wouldn’t have it any other way, this
Woman who stood up to bombs and blows
Before she realized she was not the victim
Of this particular cosmic joke
But rather the hijacked heroine of
Somebody else’s poetry --- Why
Do you laugh, Titus, she
Murmured
In his ear, now with the leaves
Shaking in the autumn wind, is
There anything
Left to do but laugh, or cry, she said,
I’ve mustered up the courage
To stand still until I fall, tracing my thoughts
Past naked bodies into purple heavens, these
Girls, they
Dance an Arabesque, they
Swallow our swords and live
To tell – We
Are the words that go round and round,
Quiet now with hungry fathers
And blackhaired infants – our mounting of the
Steps is monumental
Given our stretched and broken limbs – We
Climb to meet you there,
Under the stair, in a perfect hideaway,
Where only Saints can find us.
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