Tanaquil Flies Home

by heytherewildflower

Alexander McQueen

Tanaquil Flies Home
where the firmament has its cusp, not form,
but color, reigns. plane skids on purple lid-
sun risen to revolve around the storm.

The sun rose revolving around the storm.
My body was borne on firmament’s cusp,
suspended where, not form, but color, reigned-
where clouds writhed like a nest of blood black asps.

Going home only meant a different bed.
Beige bed was home, the brick bed was bathed blue.
and her gray legs hung from her hips as lead.
Broken, she flew; dark partnered pas de deux.

unmoving cargo with yellow breath.
air breathed hard with purple breath.
her tears were blue, she did not cry.
the damp in her legs festered. she felt
nothing below the waist. she felt nothing.

This body was a joke.