The awakening

Iulia Halatz
Oct 31 · 1 min read

The song dreams along
with the fields
watered by the eyes
of the wettest dawn.

She feels empty
caught
in a web of stars
immenser than any sky
that ever sheltered Europe.

Her story is not written.
She lives in the not-knowing
Her mind crossed Rubicons
Scylla and Charybdis
are petrified
with
lyrics and dance.

She is all the things
She has ever loved:
scented wine,
the white and blue bustle
of spring
the forests dormant
under the scythed moon.
Her green thoughts
bear the celestial heavens
like so many miniature Atlases…

This world is strange
and under attack
of barbarous hearts
that have plundered
and seduced
bedazzled countries
and continents…

She is still not yours,
Still hiding in the
vapors of the tide…

Like any artist without an art form, she became dangerous. — Toni Morrison


Written for August Feminist Book Title Challenge at braveandrecklessblog.com.

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