Sunday, September 8, 2019

Juliet by Mary E. Durocher


 She’s far above fair Verona,  
 she’s entangled with the stars.
 Galaxies swirl like soap,
 they slip through her fingers.   
 She scoops up the universe, 
 and cradles it in her palm  
                                                  
 Fourteen years old.  
 Buried a blade in her belly. 
 Like smoke, Romeo vanished. 
 He gulped and savored every last bit,
 her sweet, youthful juice drained to the pit.
 She refused to return,
 not to Mother’s sculpted mold. 
 Now she rots.  
 A spoiled peach.

 She doesn’t weep his name,
 instead, she screams. 
 Juliet.
 Juliet.
 She must find this girl in the dark.  
 Where she’s more than a daughter,  
  more than a Capulet.
 She’ll be her own sun. 
 Watch her rise in the east.

--Mary E. Durocher 

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