Imagine a girl. still fluid, a bucket
that isn’t ready to be filled.
A woman squeezed into whale bone
clasped shut against protesting flesh.
Choking beneath layers of sundried detritus.
Inside is the yoke of herself
in perpetual motion
impelled to crash up against those that like to push
and prod
and cajole.
Her ferocity is muted
travelling almost infinite distance
to reach the surface, exploding in slow motion into physical space.
In the same moment
and all the moments leading up to it
that whalebone paper shell,
for but a hair’s breath,
loses all consistancy.
In that beating of humming bird wing
possibilities to push beyond the horizon. Like freedom was every second
that had and ever could be
bursting together in unison, condensed into a single stroke.

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