See there- my Molly, in death- so white
Coming clothed in flowers, entering the night.
My fate, through her eyes, is being foretold
My dreams, my wounds, my joys she holds.
Spirits, unpolished, stand back in aghast,
Molly, my Molly, has acknowledged the past.
“It’s not what I wanted! Not what I assumed!”
And with that, my Molly pronounces my doom.
My fate, it is sealed, lying warm in her breast,
Unless I chop off her head and eat up the rest.
[Above poem reworked from a version I first wrote in April 1994, titled “Marianna.”]
I thought I was holding on to this ONE life I knew.
My heart feeling the weight of having died a thousand deaths.
I thought I was the tree, whose roots dug so deep,
So deep that it was surely invincible.
I thought I was the tree that houses the egg,
Providing a safe place in which to grow,
and from which to leave.
I thought my role was to grow deep roots,
and multiple branches,
and rich green leaves.
I thought I felt the a pain of my roots being cut,
my body toppled.
But I have died a thousand deaths.
And I know now that I am one of the birds.
And as the roots are cut, and the tree is toppled,
My leaves turn to wings,
the wings of thousands of birds.
And I fly.
– Katarina Thorsen