I was not meant to tell a story —

Your story or mine,

Or anyone else's.

I did not bask in the summer sunshine

For the sake of a certain village elder

Who dictated rules and never left anyone at peace.

The goblet on the table has stayed empty.

The village elder has decorated the balcony

With potted plants. Leaves decorated the walls

Like green snakes. My sleeves are green.

Greensleeves is a melody from the sixteenth century.

I dance to it. I dance, dance, dance to it.

The dusk brings new hopes and no absolution.

The village elder dictates rules. There is not an end to it.

The goblet contains the strongest possible tea.

It never appeases me. I need another goblet —

And another. And another.         

The moon slowly comes into being.

The moon was not there when I was born.

It had been invited by the sun that night.

It had left the sky. The clouds had welcomed me.

As the village elder dictates newer rules,

The moonlight gets brighter and brighter-

And longing for the moon,

I take one last sip of my tea

And leave the room in silence.