Concubine in the time of purpose.
Weekday mornings, bathed in golden light. Kiss goodbye, change the world, darling. I am the velvet footnote to his legacy.
No more strong woman, all backbone and bruises, grief and chronic fatigue. I am light, desirable, kept. The fat of complication is shed. I am thinning myself out—becoming so small, so refined, so reduced that I leave no impact at all. A skeleton in a silk robe twirling in the echo of her lover, resting my bones in his luxury suite, unheard and unnoticed in a progressive world.
We often stumble upon the faiths we try to avoid, Oedipus. A child of sacrifice, I wear guilt like another layer of skin. Mother, did you birth me in the heat and hunger for me to vanish beautifully?
