Words: Melanie Flowers

I always felt sorry
for Melanie Flowers
some pretty
little song-bird
cursed by name
and curling
hair

All freckles
outsized nose
and too round
curving
Expanding against
clothes
two sizes
too small

Melanie Flowers
she bloomed
and blossomed
to a fine woman
whose song
could distract
the most pained
of penitent
victims

But before
Spring came
she was buried
deep
Snowed in
by jibes
and hateful
cliquey
debasement

How they jeered
these prototype
art critics
These foetal
luddite whores
seeking only
to diminish
Telling her
“be quiet
You have nothing
worth saying
Nothing we wish
to hear”

It’s true to say
Melanie Flowers
outgrew them
Stretching far beyond
their prissy
little games
Mellifluous and flowing
she sang
Bringing
sweet love
and care
Giving
ever giving
despite those
constraining
scars
Creasing her brow
aging her eyes
sinking deeper
than any mask
could ever
hope to hide

Sweet Melanie
I wished it in my power
to take that pain away
to erase those marks
inscribed in blood
by such
callous infant
assassins
To lend you breath
A diaphragm’s lift
To join you
in singing
beauty
from mountain-tops

Sing
Melanie Flowers
sing!
I am listening
And in some
little piece of me
I’m ready
to carry your tune

[From Red’s prompt: “Mellifluous”]

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