Shed or Gap 3

Locks clatter to the floor
The key, they told her
To finding her power
But she stares back and declares
She was already a warrior
Though they tried convincing her otherwise
Hair had nothing to do with it

Chop, or Gap 2

Shoe to root
She wades through a minefield of stumps
Petrified dreams decompose
Feeding sun starved saplings

The shoots fight
And she nods in approval
Then begins to shake at the sight of the trunks
Concentric hopes unrealized
Handcuffed to the ground

She saws at their chains
Licking deltas of salt from her lip
Cheeks streaked with war paint
As the chains constrict
Suffocating the wood
It screams.
"Go!"

She runs
Dodging debris
Focused, until
The sky hums
Her flight momentarily masked by the soft lullaby
Of wings

He hovers,
The hornet.
Buzzing with electric promise.
Offering her the air
Confident that he can
But she knows.
That the stumps were once trees.

So she runs faster.
Then trips
And lands chin to chest
Shrouded by hair

Peaking through the web,
She faces a kaleidoscope of distorted reflections
Nightmarish iterations of herself
In his compound lenses

He nuzzles against her neck
And promises to be gentle
Body soft
As she reaches to stroke the wing

But when her fingers fan,
The soil groans
Her soles rooting
Clawing at the vacuum that was once air

He drones apologetically,
When he stings her
And lands
Vowing to stay

But her branches weep
Burdened by the constant reminder
That the stumps were once trees
And she can no longer run.