once a blue braid
now tortoiseshell frames perched on aquiline nose
regal half-smile half-smirk
laughter at the morbid.
spins straw into gold
but believes it is silver.
mind like a maze
you could get lost in
and never want to leave
because it’s like the upside down
except wonder thrives there instead of death
a curiosity that spills over to our world
and ravages it
dissatisfied as she is with the course of things.
her heart beats marx
her lips sing of women
her fingers rough from being slapped against steel
to sound out notes.
her dil, her ishq
like the ishq of nearly every woman
eternally unable to appreciate her wonders
possibly critical of the precious body he holds
because he is afraid
always afraid of being swallowed up by her
so he puts her down.
(may all those ishqs find peace in narak).
fine as a surgeon’s needle
her mind pierces through the layers people wear
her fingers relegate them to paper
not digestible by all
but precise, and true.
and I am an audience for these
a bewildered audience
shaken, often, to her core
by the Stephanian critic’s musings.
APOBI is taking the “National” Poetry Month challenge! (Yes, in spite of law school and her long hiatus.) Follow her to see how far she succeeds in writing thirty poems in thirty days.
Today’s prompt was an old friend of hers. This unrelated but adorable picture was taken by Octavio Fossatti on StockSnap.io.