she seeks out the other. those of same flesh as she. they, the women that cower together, women that dance alone, eyes filled with moon.
she crouches on the damp banks amid the whir of waxy-skinned dragon flies,
she parts the tangles of silvergrass to find herself, never seen, never known, watching for that movement beneath the surface, watching for a welt to rise on the waters, watching for Another to surface there in the depths,
some witch-form, some creature, some black-ringed eye & rapunzel hair.
the things a woman keeps, touched with fond fingertips, turned over in hands, treasures lined in rows, a woman in love with dust & darkness, a woman of shadows.
the things she keeps: a fetus in a jam jar, dusty in the closet, a snake rattle for a still born, satin hair ribbons, blue & faded, bones.
a woman in love with corpses, who makes a floor of mud & sticks for bare feet, & walls of tree bark,
a circle of candles, a circle of flame, a dance of flesh, a painted face - sun-like & radiant,
with fish heads & offerings, naked children, a snake in each fist, clay earthenware fired in a hot stove, scent of banana,
the shell of a locust peeled from a building side, women dancing.
we bend we move we touch, we live the earth.
she dances with the grace of a serpent i dance for her, i dance for myself