The A in Egypt

She stands in rigid parade-rest,
but if you squint you can see
the ungainly baby deer bends
of her long-boned limbs.

Neither golden sun
nor amber shaft of wheat
sit trapped in the twisted folds
of her paper-pale hair.

Smoke got caught in two blue marbles
hardened in the depths
of her mother's womb.
The sidhe mined them to form her eyes.

Balancing on graceless, masculine feet
sprouting the curious legs of a crane
she rests her torso
on the hulls of her flat hips.

Harsh sounds alone comprise her voice
dog-cries and shutter-slaps,
even her lullabies grate;
pitch and keen instead of croon.

Scarred cheeks, small breasts;
all of her delicious faults
are made immaterial
by the sheer shock of her existence.

She is real. Her heart races, and falters.
Her soul-filled body is solid.
I am her reflection diluted and disturbed,
broken by a thousand ripples.

I slip through her on my way to hell,
a barely-felt shiver as from a ghost,
as she strides forward, steady and unerring
I forgive her for not stopping my fall.

~~~~~~~~~~AEW~~~~~~~~~~

Why is this poem called "The A in Egypt", you muse? Well, I couldn't just put the title I wanted, so I ask you...what starts - and ends with - an A and is in Egypt?

Exactly.

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