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My Sisters
By Louisa Castrodale
I send out my message,
not intended for any human ear.
It is too grand to be contained,
and so I release it
to the heavens,
for we are under
the same vast sky,
and the stars are my receivers.
I shout it deeply into
the jagged valley,
where it is heard
by every grain of sand,
that has lain there waiting
for a thousand years.
They absorb the depth
of my feeling;
answer me with
their silent wisdom
that speaks volumes in return.
It erupts from me
like a volcano,
whose heat spills futilely
to the sea,
but nevertheless must arrive,
and heed the call of nature.
Earth, wind and fire;
they are my sisters.
They console me with
their echoes of the breeze
that disturbs my heart
this night.
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Blood, Feather & Bone
By Louisa Castrodale
Rip them from my
back, even if you
must tear the flesh
that binds them
between my shoulder
blades, and part us
now for good.
I
know I was born
with them, and they
lifted my feet from
the ground a time
or two, but I have
gotten them wet,
by lying in the
rain, and they are
too heavy for me
to bear, anymore.
So
let me go, I am not
one of your angels,
just a woman, who
tried her best,
to be free.
By Louisa Castrodale
Do not offer me
moon dust for a meteor,
water for chocolate,
a slap for a kiss,
or a boy for a man.
You hide behind the screen of your ambivalence,
only letting fragments drift through;
your faded linen on the breeze.
If you cannot pass through
whole,
do not offer me
anything.
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Paradise
By Louisa Castrodale
No one ever explained it
to my satisfaction,
and so left to my own musings,
I imagine it as such;
a place of two lovelinesses,
where every pure moment
I ever lived,
I will live again,
except twice as deeply,
as ever before.
Therefore, I do not long for
the embrace of saints, and golden streets.
Instead, I wait for my last breath
to take me where time doesn’t keep me
from enfolding one loveliness
within another;
returning to me
every fleeting joy
I lived this one life for.
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We Dance
By Louisa Castrodale
It’s funny how
death peeks
around the corner
to see if I’m coming,
and I say
“I’ll catch up later,”
how he understands.
We dance
together, now and then,
his hand caressing
my lower back,
my forehead pressed
into his cheek,
and I almost
forget, that I
have to go home,
leaving our tango
yet undone.
So many times
I wade knee-deep
into roses, and the
salt air hangs like
a wreath upon
my heart, and
in those minutes,
I don’t think
of him at all.
But, he knows
if he waits,
I will arrive
into his arms,
from around that corner,
to dance one long night,
forever more.
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