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. 


Kesi Augustine is a writer, teacher, and scholar from Queens, New York. Visit her at http://www.kesiaugustine.co

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