the sun dips low beneath the dunes.
it taught me how to breathe, once —
that warm, simple inhale, exhale —
while the world spoke in tongues.
my mother told me that i was always a changing creature,
but i have been here long enough to know that
the winds evolve with the seasons,
that the tides harmonise with the moon,
that the birds sing with the gentle footfalls of the stars.
the sweat dampens my spirit in the night like nothing else can.
she called me the suspended girl;
down here the sound does not travel.
can you hear my pain heal, the sound of my tears dissolving?
does it all seem real? is it all quite right?
i shut my eyes against the sunrise and listen
for the song as it echoes out across the shifting sands:
the suspended girl, standing alone,
frozen as the dust stirs and
whispers in the break of day —
a heartbeat, alive.
image: Dior Haute Couture Spring-Summer 2021; The Hanged Man
clothing dreams / margaret atwood