Naomi’s Mirror by Z.M. Wise
Updated: May 6, 2020
She is unavailable, Crystal Moon Woman, girl who licks glass in ecstasy. Her tongue becomes shards and she melts into magenta puddle smelling of jasmine and other earthen fragrances.
She is emotionally unavailable, Uneven Star Formation Lady, forcefully reminded of trauma sans recollection of incidents. An earthquake within, tremors do not cease until memory of his unwanted touch fades. She loves it when you tell her what is on her mind. Illustrious illusions, delectable delusions.
She is physically unavailable, Platinum Sun Girl, touching herself until the mouth of flames consumes her completely from gushing inner heat exhaustion. Coming, coming to, coming to astral realization: she cannot be anyone without herself awake.
She is spiritually unavailable, Dreaming Neon Prism Goddess, transforming herself into doppelganger strangers. Assists in the snow-blind quest to find herself before the fleet of scarlet battleships conduct her hasty trial. And all the while, she laughs with gusto, lacking an audience.
Changes in her tone through sung Eastern ballads, indulges in the sciences of day, drinking night potion. ‘Tis time to come home to her consciousness and reflect.
She refuses to be silenced, Liberation Fighting Femme. A battle-axe of speeches wins the open fist-fighting tournament. Egalitarian for life, her dream spheres rise and set in unison, motions of perfection. With one voice of solidarity, she crosses her eyes an sees only a checkered past.
Never under the knife’s mercy, her weaponry is lyrical and remains unchallenged. Sensitive to any blinding and deafening touch, she expels the ringing bells of anti-shame, reverberating off of cathedral stone entrances, synagogue stain glass sanctuaries, mosque floor carpets rising and conquering, Neopagan forest soil vibrations.
She is a shadow of my disoriented figure. She is an echo of my amplified echo. She is a conscience of my ears’ reception. Takes the form of vermilion mist, the particles of summer sunflowers dancing on the eyes of innocent temple attendees. Everything they know is written in patriarchal tablets, knowing nothing of the victorious other sides.
She bathes in the spoils earned from mental wars, for every apocalyptic day in her head is a victory. ‘Tis time to return home to glass backward replica and reflect.
Z.M. Wise is a proud Illinois native from Chicago, poet, essayist, occasional playwright, seldom screenwriter, co-editor and arts activist, writing since his first steps as a child. He is co-owner and co-editor of Transcendent Zero Press. He has published five books of poetry. Other than these five books, his poems, essays, and book reviews have been published in various journals, magazines, and anthologies. Besides poetry and other forms of writing, his other passions/interests include professional voice acting, singing/lyricism/songwriting, playing a few instruments, fitness, and reading.
Social Media: https://twitter.com/ZMWisePoet