Читать книгу White Nightgown - Megan Gannon - Страница 12

Myth

She of the unwritten

question, and he who plucked

her lambent answers

into hymn.

Who’d twined her with a strummed

thrumming and taught

her tightening eyes how a self

from all its hemmed-in skin,

insistent listening,

can unhinge.

Now outside of her

smallness,

following.

She owed him

his hunger, the chance

to diminish her.

Or diminish from him, and to her

some air,

the sound that flows on the grey hills

and gathers, alluvial in rooms.

She was learning how to be

limitless,

a scented stain, a tarnish

wandering, child

wading for the first time eternal

into the far glittering

where light erases

this instant and the bridge to get there.

Even she did not know—

if his bodied,

from-all-the-four-corners need did not

deceive him, if his gaze straightened

and he made it back to the world he’d made

her from—if she’d let herself be

bargained,

bodied—

an empty

aerie, wind among trees.