My Name Is Not Mavis

Land gives up water
The willows spread their fingers
Doubt loosens its grip.

Every day I think
And find myself no further
While the crickets sing.

I am not afraid of pressing my hand to the hot stove,
Or soaking my feet in puddles I did not see.
I have the courage to rise before the darkness breaks,
And I am fearless when it comes to mailing my heart.

But I could not stand against your silent sword
Of disregard.
To be the old rag that is tossed after
Wiping up a spill that spread with insidious
Intent. If there is such a thing.
Which I then questioned.
Which made me question me,
More often than I had moments left in my hereness.
Making me lose, with great sadness, my heroine status
Over and over again.

But.

Even kneeling or
Flat on my back in the gray dirt of ash,
I whispered to myself,
Remember, brave girl: I am still

I am still

I am

Still.

Loneliness is a skinny bitch
Who sits in front of a plate
Of warm cinnamon rolls
And refuses to eat.

The curve of a breast in a loose robe
On a Sunday morning before church:
A holy prayer.