“I’ll follow
you down till the sound of my voice will haunt you . . .
You are the
sound of my voice . . .” --Stevie Nicks
Come in out
of the darkness,
came the
melodic invitation,
wrapped in
ribbons and lace:
a
raspy-voiced woman
dancing out
of my radio
like a genie
from a magic lamp.
Enraptured,
I began rubbing the lamp,
surrounded
by darkness,
and responded to
the radio,
I accept the
invitation;
I wish to
become a woman:
a woman like
you, arranged in lace.
As if any
measure of lace
could cast
my rusty voice into a lamp,
make me that
kind of woman,
illuminating
darkness,
issuing
invitations,
working
magic through the radio.
There was no
reply from the radio,
so I
amplified the lace.
Repeat the
invitation,
I cried,
lacing into the dimming lamp,
but the
voice became darkness.
Finally I
recognized the woman.
She was
searching for another woman
who would
free her from the radio:
a woman
unafraid of the darkness
unveiled
when you lift the lace
from the
face of a burning lamp–
I had
misread the invitation.
It’s just a
feeling, the invitation:
the kind a
woman
can forge
into a lamp,
a two-way
radio
possessing
magic that can unlace
a woman with
darkness.
Undoing the
laces, sings the woman
with the
woman on the radio, inviting
the darkness
that has become her lamp.
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