suffrage

there is a painting in her arms
growing like the wind
a small grasshopper
rubbing its wings to death
beneath the moon

resplendent yin
buoy as fluroescence
(clockwork over
the very roses of inquiry)
in some deathless alphabet
where if was once a city
and erasure and appendage
held armistice like prayers

the treaty of gates
states a small opal should be
left among the sage and weeds
for ten generations
before a new daughter is taught
to form the characters for
"grasshopper" and "moon"

she will not be the one.


Previously published in Poetalk