Just where you broke her,
that’s where she did grow,
herself for to know.
Just where you finished her,
there she famously died,
but her eyes opened wide.
First cowering and stumbling,
she learned to stymie fear.
Then rising from her tomb of clay,
her truth she came to bear.
Watery tears nourished.
Her life’s garden flourished;
towering flowers in reds and blues,
choirs blossoming in every hue.
She’d outwitted the battering,
the identity confusing and a future so uncertain,
to roar upon high mountains.
By rejecting the guile,
brokenness she did foil,
and astutely stronger grew,
offering comfort to the broken new.
The recovering fatalist now
chronicles a phoenix’s dusty rise
out of dreary brokenness upon unbroken wings.
Celebrates the shattering,
the fueled postcolonial renaming
and shrewd neutering
of the colonizer’s deadly renderings
This and similar poems can be found in my book Splendor from Ashes