
She shaves her head and clips off her wings,
Readies her limbs, sells all ruby rings.
The embroidered clothes fall into flames.
“I won’t be needing gowns for dames.”
There’s a spot between the nearby roofs
Where her heavy head goes hunting spooks.
But tonight the chest fills up with dread,
The body seems to be glued to the bed
And iron chains are holding down her name
So it can’t be lifted and put in a frame.
“No change is easy, let the fire pass through.”
She sinks into the pillows,
Lets her spirit throw a coup.
-JW


