V. DEAR FUTURE SPINSTER
At times she felt the chilling emptiness,
Of a life destined to live without another,
Though she was free, she often ached,
To have a string or two to hold her.
A something or someone to keep her tethered,
When she feared she’d float away.
In her dreams, sometimes,
The abyss would call to her, inviting,
And then, sometimes, it was too wide a circle,
And she yearned for something smaller.
She belonged to no one, not anymore.
She once wrote letters to her future lover,
Dreaming of blissful domesticity, in a suburban home,
In one of the little towns of her youth,
Years and years ago.
Her whole life, a perpetuating circle,
A cycle of want and more want,
Of desire and fulfillment,
Her wedding ring, her smiling face, her belly round,
Her child’s eyes, her happy tears, her ticking clock,
From sunrise, to sunset, a perfect circle.
But it was not to be, reality would intervene,
Realness would pop the bubble of fancy,
A life of spinsterhood and art left instead,
That was to be her fate.
In some ways, she always knew,
That it would be just her,
So she loved herself more than anyone else,
And that would be her grand love affair.
Her only plan for the future,
Was to live a full and simple life,
To mark a place in the earth and name home,
To leave behind a trail of little truths,
Or maybe just change the world.
To tell them all her story,
About the Artist As a Young Black Girl.