She Rides
the Unicorn
Punishing waves like a storm-driven ocean,
De-speciate, deconstruct, disassemble.
Pain beyond blue
beyond red
beyond white.
Until.
Until she's no longer of this world.
Life is the choices made.
For some, the choices made before the womb.
The sun, forever laughing washes down on her,
painting her pure face.
Effortlessly, she rides the unicorn.
White, pure, uncorrupted
as in the beginning
primordial power engorging her being.
Solid earth melts to marsh,
reeds greet her,
touching, swaying, kissing
her face.
Gossamer flows waving with her hair.
The beach.
Sand like her flesh.
Breathtaking
The ocean mocks her beginning.
Gulls shout her name.
The unicorn rears,
hoofs drop to sand.
She leans forward,
an embrace, patting.
"I think I'd like to go home now."
She sighs, peach lips caressing an ear.
Perplexed, the unicorn shakes her primordial head.
"You cannot."
"Why?"
The girl, her question breathed a million times.
The response is always the same:
"You're not real."
October Ferguson