Purple Reign
—You Were Warned
She whirls beneath the curdle
__Of clouds that clog the sky.
She’s high on beast and bird call—
__She whistles in reply.
She feasts on bread and pickle
__And sausages galore.
She’s barred the Reaper’s sickle
__From scraping at her door.
Her looming-tombstone season
__Weaves winter through her hair—
The silver-salted reason
__To dance where devils dare.
In gloves and satin sandals
__She’s apt to strut and spit.
She fans the flare of scandals
__With brandy-bubbled wit.
She’s swapped the acquiescence
__That tranquilized her youth
For cuss-queen effervescence
__Deemed damningly uncouth.
She flabbergasts and foxes
__The fine folk on her street,
Stacks beermats in locked boxes
__And walks her parakeet.
Enrobed in swathes of purple silk
She bathes in troughs of tiger milk.
Susan Jarvis Bryant is a poet originally from the U.K., now living on the Gulf Coast of Texas.
Susan, this is beyond brilliant.