Fugitives

You’ll execute me if you can catch me,
bring me up on charges and down again,
right into what I believe. These books I buy,
these songs I sing, these Chinese whispers
filled to the brim with a wish—they aren’t safe
for me or for my sisters. Do you know
the answer to this riddle, the lost key
to this long-abandoned lock? I’ll say
one thing: when the time comes to take me,
make sure that I’m wearing my best black boots.
It’s not that I don’t trust you to lead the way—

it’s just that I don’t trust you. The key’s in my roots.

**

Inner Compass

Eighteen and will-strong. Headstrong
came later, once I’d been out to sea
so long that I couldn’t remember

my name. But my mother sent letters,
a fleet of small paper boats, each ruddered
with ink. And then, shuddering, I’d read

words of little comfort, so-called wisdom
from my betters. My tall ship, at least,
has sails that can fill, twist and bend

with the swells. I’m only ever where I am
because I have written it, knowing full well

to leave blank space, no full stop for an end

**

Blue Stars

What I’d first known of Orion was not so much learned
as felt. I’d lie on my back, small girl in the high summer grass,
and wonder where above the green and sleeping earth
my hunter had gone. And then September’s stealthy return
would lead him trailing home before dawn: at this pass
we’d meet, my pale arms blue and tightly folded as I’d ask,
What kept you? With one gallant flash of those true-white eyes
he’d always laugh. No wonder I’ve never been able to learn
how to trust a man who can’t blink. I’d spend my winters
everafter wide awake, searching the sky from cold lakesides
in the snow. I don’t know why I took you with me that once
to meet him when he’d edged his closest. He might yet
have fallen for you just as I had, star-struck, lying on my back,
fallen for him. What I’d first known of you was all I’d ever get.