Emancipate Me

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Thoughts in Winter.

Submitted: November 22, 2015

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Submitted: November 22, 2015

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He didn't care much for music,
that much he had said before.
But every time I allowed myself to touch ivory, I wore
the thin ribbon he gave me, around my wrist.
A shackle of silk around the moon, he would say.

His love was a vessel, no more than a vase
of delicate glass, with no water to nurture the peonies that grew,
from my fingertips
down to the floor
to settle roots between our paths.

I remember when he buried his hand in my hair,
as I played. I was his muse, all of my soul 
had shattered at his touch
and fell to the floor like powder.
He collected it with a whisper,
and placed it on the mantlepiece that I 
could never reach, fettered
in a box tied with the same silk ribbon.
I haven't played been able to play the piano since.


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