— In Memory of Amy Winehouse
Little girl lost,
yet unafraid of broad, bold darknesses,
will tattoo your heart with her somber shadows,
then erupt the sky with a brilliant smile
that doesn't quite reach her eyes.
She wears her bravado like an ornate shield,
hides in plain sight with palms splayed open
and dares you to lean upon her precipice
without falling too far from view.
Her lullabyes shatter your resolve
and stun you with their sharp edges,
leaving nicks in your flesh; she murmurs low
and slow in knowing as she applies her potent salve,
understanding all too well that healing is often incomplete
and forgetting the wounding, an impossible task.
A quiet and fierce gladiator from birth,
she was borne of fire into the ring,
keening with a lioness' roar -
she did not shirk or shrink from the fight,
but cast all caution to the tempest,
believing the battle was already lost -
her lone desire was to please the bloodthirsty crowd
and leave her mark in striated sand,
if only to be remembered
for a moment.