The Woman Who Allowed Light to Have Its Way with Her

The Woman Who Allowed Light to Have Its Way with Her Poem

She remembers
an absence of blue
billowing down,
playing loose with her,
the impetuous sailor
her mother warned her against
time after time. The light
did not invite her to dance,
nor shine upon her only.
In countless borrowed rooms
she swallowed
its gleaming intimations.
Later, in the dark, she lies
on the bed, recalling
the silvery edge of its breath,
like birch trees in spring.
She sparkles with shame.

Dannye Romine Powell
first published in Ploughshares, vol. 28, no. 1, Spring 2002
edited by Cornelius Eady

The Woman Who Allowed Light to Have Its Way with Her

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