By: Natalia Perkins
Smith College, Massachusetts USA
eyes with the twinkling
of a kindling-kind-of-evening- her palm
churning your embers-She
is the stem you rub
between your thumb
and finger to squeeze
that sweet serum from. She
will bloom and bloom again
weaving around stones, up
through the spaces between
your toes
in the barefooted months. She
is crushed clove
buds in the alcove
of a neck, and dried fruit:
so plump and ripe she slumped
to the earth, sipping sunbeams
like champagne. moonlight beckons
celestial shifts, the waves round
her ragged edges and roll away to reveal
The Woman, as natural and glowing
as a pearl, a miniature moon
for our dim world.
