a
poem is
a pharaoh's tomb:
the i interred in immortality.

Gather, gather
All the scattered
Pieces of yourself;
Daughter, daughter,
Fight your battles
With the weapon of yourself;
Take the shrapnel
From your bossom;
Turn it into something else:
A poisoned wine-cup,
A deadly blossom;
Make war like what you are:
A work of art.

The falcon, too, was once earth-bound,
    And scared to leave the solid ground;
    (How curious, to be afraid,
    To use the wings that you were given;)
    But she joined hands with her own terror,
    And let it lead the path to heaven;
    (How glorious, to understand,
    To use the power of your demons.)

Dance; bathe your heart in sweat:
Make the hurricane jealous of your fervour;
Sing; summon gods with your breath:
Make the stars beg for your favour.