Her body is
stitched with sores and dug out
cigarette stains
ivying around each limb
There's extra (a little)
itches of a second title, incongruous
unsettled at her skin-seams
coming not on boats
but by birth
So from above your cheekbones
must you see the transformation
If you lower your eyes
your face
unclench that neck
Open that throat, to breathe
like she does
There's something looming in that little extra
A vaster distance
A more silent energy
An unapologetic smile
A greater clarity masked by generosity of the unschooled
after some schooling
A greater stride some fourteen
months long
There the prize
There, she wins them over
Once she is out
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