caught in the strange; briar

[heather - d2 [mylee]]

             SHELBY LEVIANE

"i know a girl
who has a tattoo of the earth
between the wings of her scapulae.
they make of her an angel
of that world that flies a little,
needled into the literal blood below."

The last three nights I have had a recurring dream.

Wooden laid floor beneath me and bare feet, I am dancing to a silent song. I am trapped in the reprise, and at every moment when the world seems about to collapse into closure, there comes a girl who compels my feet to dance once more.

At some point in the night passing I beg her for rest— I pray to her without ever once making the assumption of her name. Every night she comes out to join me, with face covered and bare feet to match. Her hands are gentle yet guiding, and she presses our ribs together when I attempt to break the rhythm.

On the hour, I feel the tightness of my chest and the tears welling in the corners of my eyes— I am desperate now, trying not to succumb to the sight of weakness.

She does not need to see the tears to know, and she pushes the hair away from my ear to whisper, “You pretend you owe nothing; you’ve sat buried in the shadows for too long, my darling.”

I go limp in her hold, stop the fight, quit praying.

“It’s time to reemerge; it’s time to be present.”

She kisses my jaw and dissipates back into quiet air.

--

This morning, I pull myself from wooden bed and linen sheets on my own. I do not wait for Erastus’s voice to come pull me from slumber and throw clothing in my direction. I do not reach for the bottle I believe I keep hidden under the bed.

I allow myself to be washed, to be dressed, to be taken care of. I hear my stylists’ remarks of complacency and pleasant surprises, but I do not respond. When the program begins, I make my showing with a wave and the smallest smile before retreating to the back of the hall to watch. When Jacinta walks to the stage, I drop the glass in my hand.

It shatters into pieces I cannot count as I bring myself to standing atop them. I begin to walk blindly, until a hand on my shoulder holds me steady until she turns and walks toward us.

I stumble forward, almost falling into her shoulder, and when we are finally settled and holding each other’s gaze I extend a hand.

An introduction is not necessary— we are both aware of identity and how it shifts.

An introduction is not necessary, but perhaps it would be welcome.

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