his tragic magic
my mother is the hearth
my father reflects the galaxy
when death becomes birth
my ancient brothers and sisters
echo deep in my bones
their ghosts are out swaying
attached to their moans
chants cause earthquakes and
water floods where it breaks
you are only one stream that
feeds all of our great lakes
volcanoes ignite the magic
of our dreams and of our days
the night sky is the backdrop
in a theatre where he prays
hoping to god that he won't bruise
from any miscalculated regrets
gently, his mother asks again,
"do you think i'm pretty yet?"
© Copyright Miss Carly Marie 2008-2012
