|19th Century Burano needle-lace fan leaf|
Quartered, now halved, she dresses me
in a gown of finely laced light,
so spidery and buoyant,
her enchantment is a snare—
along this slight arc
of an earth animated by moonshine
in a wilderness of boundless night:
trails of stars
until a slight rotation of the planet
pulls me back to my place among
where this mistress moon
weaves me into her thin glimmers,
twisting a glow into the curls of my hair
scattered like snaking vines along the red dirt,
my skin a luminous satin, such a smooth
surface for the embroidered frills and flounces
she laces upon my neck,
delicate gossamers looped, plaited, knotted into
a decorative and illusory noose.
I have imagined myself
as a million beautiful
yet time-bound things.
In every bondage
is the key to breaking free.
Escape is simple here in the desert
where the scale of the warp
and weft and arid conditions
render mental threads brittle,
the free flowing flower motifs and illusions
snap and break in their exposure to vastness—
just stitches in air,
defying grid patterns, lifting
their heavy adornment away from me.
And then I fly freely in the night,
wicked and released.
-Renee Podunovich, 2018
|Seated Under Half Moon, photo by Renee Podunovich|