A DIFFERENT CLEOPATRA
Melt into his joy,
like a fruit in his mouth,
bear his name
not as a near-misfortune
but as the future
your own small self
has awaited.
Swaddled for worship,
become the promise
of wings that took
an oath of staying
affixed to a mummy;
your bone-cage,
supple enough for liberty,
will suffer idolatry
at his hands,
while his thought
is there to unpeel you,
like a rare fruit,
layer by layer,
until you wither into
a semblance of yourself,
Egypt’s phantom.
