She Rides the Unicorn




Punishing waves like a storm-driven ocean,

De-speciate, deconstruct, disassemble.

Pain beyond blue

beyond red

beyond white.



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.


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."


The girl, her question breathed a million times.

The response is always the same:

"You're not real."


October Ferguson




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