The blinding sun gleams through
the window, binding her dispersing dreams together.
Lying here was once
a young girl, afraid to be
alone, yet her pillow caressed her
revolving mind, supporting her
dreams standing the test of time.

You once woke with a burning
urgency in mind, a whisper turned cry,
a flicker turned roar: a needing
to be heard, to write your own word.

We shall not be confined
to the assumed norms of time,
shall not be limited to dreams,
misspoken to cry.

She stands here now
her closet igniting the possibilities
of the day’s sayings, of your bringings.
An imposter comes to mind, perhaps a lost friend,
yet not a friend to find.
From the ripples of fabric, the foreshadowing
waves of coming change, an inhale
of these intoxicating “new” fumes temporarily dim
her illuminating shine.

Your closet once reflected your “requirements”,
your callings. Your endless layers of forgotten
reminders, lost in the burnt rubble.
Your light illuminated the path for lost wanderers,
for found wonderers.

As our layers now come
off, we are forced to cover
ourselves up.
Claw your way through the
rubble, the rumble of longings turned needings.

She skips along the path, she stands here,
and zooming out of the then, into the now
her bearings are of a feather’s weight, those
around her no longer products
of oil, glitter, and pigment. She knows
the fate of the world is in her hands,
her hands now ingrained into the world.

You trailblazer, who stood
the test of time, who tested
the time of the world. Your footsteps,
now grooves along the path, cradle her
foot as she stands up
for her word. Yet you who proved,
you who marched, demanded
your rights, you carried
your own fights.

We walk through the path
not laid for us, ingrained, grinded
by us. We cry for the world to recognize, to see
the fire in our eyes.

She returns back home, she lies down to rest.
She nestles up with her blanket,
caressing her mind as the longing
for dreams begins to dissipate.

Your day was up to you,
yet it was not. Your thoughts free,
yet your mind racing,
your heart pounding,
your palms sweating. Yet here
you lie, here you return
to the before, to the after,
in the now.

Our eyes flutter
closed, the day to soar forward
on the waves of change,
the urgency to be made,
the recognition of our names.
The light holds true, persists through the dark.
As our calls now cry
out for change, truths shall be discovered,
rights will be ingrained,
for engraved within history
is her story.