she slept,
but her soul
was not at rest.
beside her, a drone.
on guard, armed
with a gun,
like a thorn
to a rose.
a sting of wasps
invaded her hive.
and though they
clipped her wings,
her dreams propelled
her escape.
maybe in her dreams
she met her future self
a sovereign woman
conjured from the spells
sticking to her Post-its.
maybe in her dreams
she worked a night shift
where her honey healed
the sick masses.
maybe in her dreams
she cradled
her unborn child.
we have built memorials
in her name
but first
we made her
renounce her crown.
resurrectionmag.com 
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