Still Hidden

Inside her, always velvet —
its give and yield, snuffling out
whatever softness brings.

Something stored in lightness
points at her lap — the body
hiding inside, sobbing breath.

Behind mesquite, someone
closes both ears to the sounds —
but the girl listens, still waiting

for the end of the scuffling —
for velvet laid out in lines across
the shreds — the smell of skin.

Three wrinkled old dollars
for those who’ll roll over —
clinking their chains for luck.

Now, softness has no more
cages like these. Velvet only
listens in silence — and is still.

. . . . .

Poet: Susan Powers Bourne
Source: Velvet by Gina Franco
Process: Pick and mix and add