Sometimes we think we know a stranger's story.by Naomi Wood
Looking at her through the glass between us
I want to tell her how vast she can be.
The multitudes, the contradictions
Swirling in the solar plexus of her solar system
Potent in the cobweb delicacy of her magic
Larger and too deep for the savouring
Of hearts whose mouths
Hang open like porcelain caves.
I hope for her to grow ungainly and impudent.
That she'll see the gilded cage
And not be distracted by its pretty engravings,
For a grave is what it is.
That she'll burst from its trappings with a force that propels her
Into all the dimensions I know she can travel. All the inconvenient places.
Where those who wish to subdue her voice, lurk
With pearl-curved teeth and shiny spines protruding.
I want to tell her that there'll be so much more...
That even if she feels oxidised under this weather
I see her brimming with kindling.
I see the soft flesh of anarchy.
Terraform deftly peeling back layers of skin
To expose more earth to the sky.
Photosynthesis ripening the dew on a blade of unimagined history.
I want to wipe the saltwater falling from her
And tell her there'll be deeper oceans and vaster plains-
Whole galaxies to pour herself into-
Some that will hold her gaze
And many that won't.