You came to life, slowly

by Brianne Grothe

exhuming yourself from
the pure haunt of your
disease

You were a Raggedy Ann doll
blood red spots on your smile
your own voodoo doll
an abandoned Cabbage Patch Kid
left in the field, abducted by
alien foes, not friends

You were hijacked
a terrorist of your
own being

Your own vampire, a devil
she-beast

But now you are
a dogwood flower
pressed into an old
book kept in the drawer,
one taken out
sometimes and
admired
occasionally

A North Star
quiet and direct

You are
an arrowhead,
pen of a sword,
rising out of
red clay

dripping

You are
Joan of Arc
Esther, Jezebel

Ready for revolution
absolution

but today

You just are.