In Stardust

Before I met you,

I was a bird. And my wings

were strong

and my feet were quick

and my feathers were lustrous and steady.

–

Before I met you,

I was the moon. And my glow

was radiant,

and my core was resolute,

and my crescent was sharp and smooth to the touch.

–

Before I met you,

I was a seed. And my roots

were rugged

and my stems were tenacious

and my leaves were monumentally green and growing.

–

But you weren’t here to feed me,

to water my soil or please me.

I didn’t realize I was kindling,

meat stacked on bone,

a body to own, to torture and

contain and enslave.

–

And when you left,

I became a drop in the ocean,

another tear cried,

another storm waged,

another tidal wave erupted,

another spritz of salty mist in the air.

–

And after,

I sewed together

mist and glow and root and feather

and twisted it in bloody muscle,

tied it in smoke and flames,

and cased it all in a taut skin of mica,

more powerful than you could have ever imagined.

–

I felt what it was like to breathe again.

Set the air on fire again.

–

I am a bird, a phoenix rising,

I am a tree, a willow singing.

I am the moon, reborn in blood,

in stardust everlasting.

–

I was. I am. I will be.

Everlasting.