Susan McCabe

Issue #
February 18, 2013

Godiva's Dream Cure

In bright dress, her horse she did acquit.

In bright dress, her dress she did acquit.

Silver diva in haste, she did acquit

Her horse did speed in brightness

Towards the verdant grass and trees

Verdant she had known

Her dress, too heavy

What turned heads she felt

She sped to the edge of city-forest

Then, many miles, took herself

To a place of sacredness, she thought

High in turns about the mountain path

To have the dream cure

—to be held above a volcanic world
was both fed dreams and

she sent them out, fast ticker tape

from god’s window, or was it hers?

She ate of food that can’t be named.

Met those who can’t be seen

(true it was, I was there)

Slept with centuries.
                                           And then.

           The heat vest, one man put on another, or the cold chilling one.
           Or one sent out for a list of books she was whispered not to find
           But to replace.

           To mix drinks from powders that could kill. They had
           To make the others suffer

The beaded gown of her horse she did acquit.

A silver thing she fled the very edge

Where hill had stopped and horse had stopped

Unpeopled she thought, she drove her bright

Through with ordeal back

Though lush of time did pass

Her horse she set free

From behind bars

She saw racing hill & bright

She had to find a way to leave this

Dictatorship, what else to call it

Others left

Each stick of furniture was Argus-like

& stared her chill body away

Could she die she might see the fringed

Trees that locked her here

She couldn’t recall the boat’s name

Or why she had been taken

Except she dropped her dress

And bared her back

Why had her country been taken?

So that she could be trained to slave and shove

Then she saw

             Millions lined up for euthanasia they called it

             Where there I saw someone I knew

             My mother! My own mother. In hospital gown.

             She had a sore ankle just like I who now limped.

             There were too few doctors so the leaders marched them on.

             She passed along with the crowd of

             Mary blue & white gowns that kept falling off

Those silly strings

After a prolonged instant

She raced back to find her waiting in a room,

Drugged, waiting for her turn

She took her away to hide and talk

The forest was gone and the horse

Only the smell of its musty coat

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