She walks in beauty like the
gaudy light bulb mirrors that brighten
dingy stalls of the Czech club.
Her eyes, now accustomed to the dark,
find abstraction in stained floors,
She loves her art studio, in ornate shanty-towns.
She met the hero, one tequila filled night,
mad, bad and dangerous to know.
a strange mélange of good and evil,
Augusta, Annabella, and Mary Duff
their bodies hanging down his tongue,
she added herself, tying her raven locks.
And on that cheek, just a few days now,
heals a scar of a drunken fight.
She goes back to her kingdom of
cruel poets and radiant oblivion,
hopes the next one will come by tomorrow.
No hearts are left to love.
Inspired by and dedicated to the “She Walks in Beauty” by Lord
Byron https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/43844/she-walks-in-beauty
sc
postcolonialmigrant 