Empress Dowager Boogies

Last night I found my face below the water in my cupped hands. The mask made of copper and bone criss-crossing to make a smirk, a false glamour, a plated glaze. I unwound myself from the heavy machinery of my body's burden. The lute, the light, chime. I'll get up and partner myself with music, the purple moon peeling itself like a plum. Men stand in a circle and they will ask and ask again. I want to pick the thick bud, to lose myself in the body's posture bending in or away, to let my majesty and birthright go and gesture toward a waking life.