The Nudge of the Refugee

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Taught to remain dead from the womb,

she walks among tombs, whitewashed

crypts concealing skeletal remains

of 1,000 generations, closets clammy

.

and fungal. She bites the apple

of her ancestors which, ever since

Newton wed Granny Smith, dictates

a hard fall. The System says, ‘Stay! Be

.

at home with Depravity, shake hands

with Despair! Dry bones can but rattle,

dead men can but dance.’ But she feels the

nudge of the Refugee, the rebellion of

.

soiled skin; when she opens her eyes

to Truth, she finds her mantle is but a

rented chrysalis. When they take the final

tally, her casket will be an empty husk,

.

with hinges rusted like dry blood, an

apple seed rooted through its temple.

Laughing at Gravity, she will rise

on the wings of the dawn, emancipated.

 

.

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Butterfly-To-Be

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Spring, chrysalis-wrapped

Skeins of sepia-stained silk

Butterfly-to-be

Breaking Through

The Breakthrough was breathtaking in its

unexpected triumph;

its mysterious arrival threw

Darkness to the curb

in a show of superiority rarely seen

in her years of travail.

She hadn’t known that

Breakthrough, by necessity,

required Breaking;

it was this Brokenness

that had forced her face into

all the corners where

filth of failure

and cobwebs of compromise

had woven their deep magic

over her soul.

And oh, how she fought!

Her marrow resisted the broken pieces

and Denial’s wooing almost won her over;

but here,

on her knees,

she sees the way Through

that the Breaking redeemed.

Her tears rinse the decay

as her soul stirs,

cracks the chrysalis,

and Breaks Through to

dance in the

Light.