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Empoweress, empress, high priestess

of the seas, let me be


I want to feel the wind,

not fight it.


A trepid breath lies

pickled in a jar sealed

with no holes in the lid


no word, song, cry or curse

can escape

the turning, turning, turning

grind against glass

like fingers around the beads

of a restless prayer, or regrets

trapped beneath the tongue.


In the spaces between teeth,

a springtime zephyr is rising


while in the jar

a storm is gently breaking.


I want to feel fragile,

become sharp

as I shatter.

*First published in Covert Literary Magazine, June 2022.

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