Apricot Press

Don’t ever ask me
                                     why I chose to run.                      All I wanted
was to plant my roots
                                               someplace new.                               Don’t presume you know

why I needed to get away sometimes.

                                                                        I outstretch my arms                           so the birds
have somewhere to rest from their hectic flight.

                                                                                             I am not here for you to gawk at.
I did not want to be bound            into the ground.

                                                                                          Don’t ask me why my hair
keeps growing back                   year after year                           like vines.

Call me down-to-earth.          But I
                                                                       never feared the touch of a man.             All I feared
was being pinned down.                                                                                          Ironic, really.

My leaves           laurel                 mean victory          survival                               triumph.

Men thought they could make a trophy
out of me.                                                          How many women

                       have to run              I ask you?
                                                                                                                         I did not need a man
to tie me to the floor.                         But every year

I grow back stronger             fuller                                 thicker.

Year    after year          I keep on blooming.

                                           We have the bodies of flawless women,
                                           with the gold wings of eagles
                                           and venomous snakes for hair.

                   I was the only one born mortal.
                   Men wish to penetrate me,
                   as they want to cut off my head.

                                                   They say I can turn a suitor to stone,
                                                   with one withering glance.
                                                   O, frightful inconvenience!

            How can one love from a distance?
            Must I be blindfold,
            to know a prince’s warm embrace?

                         Who could ever worship me,
                         in all my hideous beauty?
                         Before Eros strikes, I blink him dead.

                                                Perfect stranger, with your mirror-shield,
                                                look not into my eyes.
                                                Come closer, let me gaze instead.

Photo credit: deepigoyal