Poem by Marisa Silva-Dunbar
These days, everyone doubts a prophetess—
but I saw you when you were a hollow girl
a ghost maiden of chicken wire. I could peer
into the well of your sockets, see how you
had emptied yourself at the crossroads—
walked through the brambles barefoot.
Numb, you didn’t feel as it tore your flesh.
You drowned in melancholy soaked nights—
longed to touch amethyst colored sunsets.
I witnessed this too. I traced your palm
with my fingertips stared into the marine cavern
of your eyes, plucked seeds from the depths—
watched as you sowed and nurtured the buds.
Naysayers don’t appreciate how I spoke
with the stars and divined your future.
They think the cards I’ve drawn are for them.
You are the Page of Cups, the student—
still learning, still craving your standing ovation.
Take a bow, gather the coins, maybe this time
you will be filled.
About the author Marisa Silva-Dunbar's work has been published in The Bitchin' Kitsch, ArLiJo, Pink Plastic House, Sledgehammer Lit, Analogies & Allegories Literary Magazine. Her second chapbook, "When Goddesses Wake," was released in December, 2021 from Maverick Duck Press. Her first full-length collection, "Allison," was recently published by Querencia Press. You can find her on Twitter and Instagram @thesweetmaris. To check out more of her work go to www.marisasilvadunbar.com
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