Pearly White Petals
Father,
Pearly white, whiter than your magic
white, dissevered, fragile petals,
my vocal folds adhere to a wet,
incarnadine tube that hides the kindred
child, dreaming of luna moths, who
gleam upon my solitary nights,
a narrow passge fanning to a thousand winds,
seeking to allay the wild waters in their roar.
Who hatches its innocence apart with raw hands?
Who drives in a laryngoscope to inspect its defects?
Do they not know infants' vocal folds are
different? But in error bids them
live. I guard my accent, surface in florid
blooming tinge, like the morning's virgin dews,
to entice Nature not to spare this island.
I contend to wed things that never pleased before.
My mucous membrane stretches across oceans.
Mine chants a tide of prayers in sonorous tone
to make wishes come true.
Mine the syrinx of coutless transnational flights.
Love, Miranda