She was weak in the mornings,
Neck bent and eyes downcast
As the radio played throwbacks,
Fetid breath and rough hands
Dark brands, wide and deep,
Back bent and eyes bruised,
Yellow teeth and Old ripped up photos
That reminded her of her childhood.
As she rocked slowly to sleep,
Woken by creaks and footsteps.
But as the tv flickered on
And a groan followed by a snore
Added to the beautiful harmony
That meant the promise of night.
She became strong.
Fed solely on moonlight,
She bloomed, a night flower
That spreads its petals becomingly,
Strong and deadly she was a superhero
That flew through the city,
Keen eyes protective because
The cycle of dread never followed.
Mecca-Amirah Jackson 