Rewa Morgan

For J.K.B.

let time be still and imagine
if that were true

my mind’s flowering rose
would not have aligned itself

with the bloom you admire
it would be a trick

true beauty cannot be lost to time
i have climbed above and rode

towards truth’s gusts of wind
like my ancestress

her intellectual prowess gifted me the feminine
tied up in a mane of hair

that blows thick lashes out
and shields my philosophy

i offer you my
night time breath that

heats the curves of libraries
archives and digital search engines

to critique the backbone
of your myth