Dance On

She got herself some wings
but first, she had to take
some pills.
She shucked out of that
body, slipped up
the broken spine
in a dope-smoothed climb, shook
loose the old hurting legs,
gathered up all
her hydroplasmic willfire
and shot
out of that too-tight
braincase, no earthbound pharma meds
come close to slowing that down now she
shattered those shackles
into spacedust and
gone.

You. You watch her blaze.
Or if you can't see her no more,
you just let her be.

She's gone from here, dancing,
she's all right
now.

Author’s note: Written in honor of my beloved friend M., dancer, artist, blazing being extraordinaire, who after many years of great pain following a terrible accident, and after innumerable attempts to heal, decided to leave. I honor and support her choice while missing her very much. She graced us all. Her departure took place a number of years ago, but I can still hear her laugh. I am grateful to Ghost City Review for homing this small tribute to her brilliant spirit.

Kyla Houbolt writes, mostly poems, though she is old enough to know better. Some of her work has appeared in Mojave He[art] Journal, Kissing Dynamite, Burning House/The Arsonista, and elsewhere. You can find most of her published work on her Linktree, here: @luaz_poet | Linktree and follow her on Twitter @luaz_poet. Kyla is a 2019 Best of the Net nominee.