He robbed me/ reverting back to the path/slipping my skin moorings
It had all seized up, the rough- said parts, where she had caved. Was it in ? Or under? she wasn't sure, except to say that things had slid, and now the head marooned, sat stiffly like some mute siren-shriek, atop a pole. Mournful on the rocks, dragged in by the tides and the unsafe modesty below. These were the places where she suffered openly, but in secret, behind a line, in degrees that separated from reason. Nursing her tomb, the underling; neglected and rejected in full parts. The soft placed power of the old ways. Full of rightness, but dangerously hemmed in. Except now the tide had caught, and new currents break, somehow no longer confounded by the past. And within these, there comes a candour- a willingness to right the line. To break lose of all the twists and turns; and again do that dangerous thing: Become a full bodied woman rising. MB
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